Erik Who?
by Kelsismom
Summary: Epilogue up. Come see! MODERN DAY Retelling ALW&Kay. Takes place inside the movie. Inspired by the premise of the tv show Samantha Who? How will a head injury change the course of Erik and Christine's future? EC eventually
1. Who Am I?

Erik Who?

Summary: **Modern-day retelling.** ALW/Kay-based/Gerard's Erik & most of my own creation :) ; Inspired by the premise of the television show "Samantha Who", and in the spirit of the movies "Regarding Henry" and "Overboard", although I have to admit I've never seen one episode of "Samantha Who". This fic is meant to be light and fun. E/C eventually. It takes place inside the movie. How does a head injury change the course of events in Erik and Christine's future? Please read and review!

Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or any of its characters or Kay's characters.

Chapter One- _Who am I?_

"Erik?"

The voice sounded distant, echoing faintly in his mind.

"Erik, can you hear me?"

His head was in a fog, and for the moment, he wondered if he might be dreaming. _Maybe I am dead_, he thought. _Is this heaven…or…?_

A strong hand shook his shoulders, and the faraway voice continued to call out that name, a name he did not recognize. He tried to lock onto the voice, mentally reaching for it, as though emerging from a cloud. His consciousness finally grasped it.

Blinking, his eyes opened, but all he saw was white, until the dimness of his surroundings finally came into focus. Shadows played upon the walls of the dark cavern, and an olive-skinned man knelt before him. The man's brows were furrowed with concern, and wisps of gray colored his black hair.

"Praise Allah," he breathed, "I thought you were dead when I found you lying here, Erik. What happened to you?" he asked with a thick middle-eastern accent, his gaze drifting to the top of the wounded man's head.

Blinding pain seized him, and instinctively his hand reached to the back of his head, his fingers meeting the crusty moistness of his wound. His teeth gritted, and his eyes darted around the lair. Nothing made sense to him as the concerned man grasped his elbow and raised him into a sitting position. It was hard to think of anything but the pounding of his head and the searing of the pain.

"Are you alright? Can you speak?"

His fingers moved back into his vision as he observed the crimson color that darkened his hand. _Dried blood_.

"I can speak." _Well, barely_. His voice sounded raspy and his throat felt like sandpaper.

The dark-skinned man raised three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Looking up at the curious man, his gaze darted from his own hand to that of the man before him. "Three," he rasped, clearing his throat, his fingers touching the skin on his neck. "Water."

"I'll get some water and some bandages," the olive-skinned man said with an obvious look of relief on his face. "Stay there."

The man left him sitting on the hard stone floor. He felt as weak as a newborn kitten, and his legs were asleep. A smirk arose from his lips. It was with a small measure of relief that he began to have feeling in his legs and feet, he mused, wiggling his toes. As his concerned visitor wandered about in search of bandages and fresh water, he had no choice but to sit and do a visual scan of the rest of his body, wondering like a madman how he had come to find himself in this predicament.

His black suit, although dusty, was intact, a bit dressy for a cave, he thought. His fingers had done their own scan of the damp hairs that were matted to his head in a tangled mess, and explored the rest of his scalp until they finally arrived at the left side of his face, running along the smooth flesh down to some stubble around his cheek and chin. _Normal_. But as they wandered to the right side of his face, to his dismay, he found ridges and indents under his eye, next to his nose and just above his mouth. Alarmingly, there was no wetness to indicate blood from the cruel depressions on his skin. The injury to the right side of his face was not fresh, and seemed severe, and his heart began to pound furiously as he searched his mind for answers.

Gratefully, he accepted a glass of water and drank in three loud gulps, the cool liquid giving some refreshment to his parched throat. His visitor busily knelt behind him, examining the wound on his head. "This looks bad, Erik," he said, applying a damp cloth to the site of the gash.

Wincing in pain, Erik's hand flew to the wound, and turning around, his other hand snatched the cloth from the olive-skinned man, and dabbed gently at the sizable bump. "I need to flush the wound. Will you bring me a basin with water?"

Nodding, the man got to his feet and headed back towards the rooms. "You are in big trouble, Monsieur Phantom. The police are scouring the opera house looking for you. Everyone is in a panic about the death of Joseph Buquet. As usual, you are the prime suspect."

_Phantom_? That was only one of many puzzles plaguing his mind. _Joseph Buquet_..._Police...opera house_...none of it made any sense.

"You are very fortunate I found you before they did, my friend," he informed him, balancing a bowl with water and dipping a washcloth into the cool liquid.

Dabbing gently at the wound, he met the blackish-brown eyes of the man. "Do I know you?"

An amused smile cracked the man's lips. "I should say so. I can see that you haven't lost your dry sense of humor."

Erik shook his head. "I wish this were a joke, but I don't know you, or where this place is...or what happened."

The man let out a soft chuckle, his eyes twinkling with humor as he met the stark, serious blue eyes of the injured man, then his own expression changed and his mouth fell into a nice straight line. "You aren't kidding, are you?"

"No."

"It must be more serious than I thought. You probably have a concussion, Erik."

Erik generously soaked the cloth with more water, wringing out the crusty redness, and applied it again to the laceration, growling out in pain from the stinging sensation. "First, who are you?" he asked irritably.

Seriously disturbed by this new turn of events, Nadir began, "My name is Nadir...Nadir Khan..." he replied, expecting at least a flicker of recognition on his friend's face.

Blankly, Erik continued to stare up into Nadir's face.

"Remember," he continued, gesturing with his hand to recall a memory, "I was a policeman in Iran, I saved you from certain death on several occasions." Nadir had hoped that small bit would at least stir something, anything. It didn't. He bent over and grasped Erik's elbow to help him stand.

He felt a little unsteady on his feet, and shaking his head again, Erik's gaze moved to his surroundings, to the lavish decorations. His eyes fell upon the antique furniture, the dozens of candles, odd knick knacks, a miniature puppet theater, and finally fell to the piano. "Do you live here, Nadir?"

"No, Erik. I do not live here. You do."

At that moment, Erik was not sure what he was finding more disturbing; that he lived in a cave, or that he had no recollection of it. As his mind whirled from the realization, he felt the man's blackish-brown eyes fixed on his face; on the right side. Reflexively, his hand flew to cover the marred flesh.

Nadir tore his gaze from Erik's deformity, and glanced around the stone floor until he spotted the desired object. He walked Erik up some steps to the piano bench, sitting him down and quickly snatched the item up in his hand. He held it out to his friend. "I think you are missing this."

Erik's fingers stayed firmly plastered across his face as his deep blue eyes fell to the object in Nadir's dark hand. Thin and probably made of leather, the white half mask had a hole for an eye and appeared to be custom fitted for his face. "Do I... wear this?"

"I daresay you rarely go without it."

Gingerly, he took the mask in his hands, as though in it he might find the answers he was looking for, but to his frustration it did nothing to jog his memory.

"You really _don't_ remember anything, Erik?"

Tears began to well in his eyes as he set the mask upon his face, pressing the form into his flesh. Hopelessly, the masked man shook his head in response.

"We need to get you to a doctor."

His deep blue eyes pleaded with Nadir. "I can't handle this. I feel like my mind is blank, and I don't know where I am, or how I got here, or how I know you..."

Nadir softened his tone. "Alright, calm down, Erik. We'll get you out of here. I know a good doctor we can trust..."

Resigned, he nodded. "Alright, Nadir," he began slowly. "But there is one thing I want you to tell me first."

His blackish brown eyes were filled with sympathy as he gazed down at the disoriented man before him. "What do you want to know?"

He raised his eyes forlornly to the olive-skinned man, who by now, Erik was certain was someone he could trust. "Who am I?"

* * *


	2. What's In a Name?

A/N: Thanks for your feedback. The content becomes lighter from this point on. I am taking liberties with just about everything and hope you enjoy. Please review!

Chapter 2- What's in a Name?

The olive-skinned man stared at his masked friend for a long while, watching as he hungrily devoured the sandwich before him. Devoid of any manners, Erik took the last quarter of his sandwich and unceremoniously stuffed it into his mouth.

"There," Erik said, his mouth full as he spoke. "Will you tell me now?"

"I'm not sure that is such a wise idea."

Frustrated, Erik resisted the urge to take his so-called friend by the throat. "You said that if I ate my food, you would tell me who I am."

"You need your strength, Erik. I can't very well carry you over my shoulder out of this labyrinth. We need to get you to a doctor."

"Why won't you tell me who I am?" he demanded like a petulant child, pounding his fist on the table with each word.

Nadir eyed the empty plate in front of him and grasped it. "Why?" he asked calmly. "Your memory may very well come back without any help from me." He casually turned from his frustrated friend, and headed toward the kitchen.

Erik sprang from the chair, but a sudden head rush dropped him back into his seat.

"What if it doesn't?"

"Well, then maybe you are getting a second chance," Nadir told him, bringing a plate of fruit and setting it onto the table before him.

"Second chance? For what?"

"Erik, listen to me…you were not the most _popular _person…"

"Popular is a relative term, my friend." _Why did it feel so natural to call him that?_ "What one person may find popular, another may find…unpopular."

Nodding, Nadir sat across from Erik and handed him a shiny red apple off the plate. "What I meant was that you were not well-liked."

Erik took the offering from his friend, admiring the sparkling redness of the fruit after automatically polishing it on his shirt. So shiny was the apple that he could just make out the reflection of the white color of his mask.

"Because of my mask," Erik concluded.

Nadir thought it best not to confirm nor deny it. "I am your friend, Erik. Please trust that I have only your best interests at heart."

He didn't reply as he proceeded to take a large bite of the apple.

"Now, please let's hurry. There's no time to waste."

* * *

Puzzled, Erik walked through his domain, his deep blue eyes catching the details of all the furnishings, all the possessions. He observed a puppet theater, a stage for tiny costumed humans: one man, two women, rather one woman dressed as a man. _Very odd._

His friend rushed about, throwing clothes into a large suitcase, mumbling to himself. Erik found himself drawn to a grand piano, his fingers caressing the glossy keys, as though they'd been calling out to him like a long lost friend. His eyes turned to a handwritten sheet of music on the stand.

"I play," he remarked aloud, running his fingers up and down the keyboard, the rich notes filling his soul, and played the first few bars of the song.

"Let us not waste time, Erik! Need I remind you, that you are a wanted man?!"

"Right." _Maybe Nadir was right. Maybe he did not really want to know after all_. He flipped curiously through the stack of music. There had to be more…somewhere, he was sure of it. He stood and lifted the piano bench lid, finding several booklets of sheet music by all the most famous composers, then to his surprise found thick wads of money spread underneath. Surprised, he looked around to be sure he was not being watched by his olive-skinned friend, and proceeded to help himself to a few of the cash bundles, stowing them into the pockets of his suit.

His sharp blue eyes moved onward, his feet carrying him from one antique to the next, Erik searched his brain for any clues. He found a music box with a monkey wearing a gold-lined red vest, shiny gold cymbals in its hands, sitting upon a chest. Indeed, he sensed that this piece was precious to him, but he had no idea why. For just a moment, he considered taking it with them, but out of the corner of his eye, long shiny brown hair caught his attention. Up against the wall of the cavern, he was drawn to a life-sized doll. The top of her head extended to the height of his shoulders. Dressed in a beaded bridal gown, the mannequin's hair fell in long, glorious tresses just below the breasts. And the face; Erik was astounded by the detail. Her skin was pale against the auburn shade of her hair, and those large incredible eyes were the most remarkable shade of brown. High cheekbones were graced with just a touch of pink, and the lips were colored ruby red. Unable to resist, Erik removed the doll from its stand, and carried it to the threshold, careful to lift the train so as not to let it drag on the stone floor.

"What are you doing?" Nadir asked, truly wondering if his friend had gone mad. "We can't take that. We still have to row across the lake…" He stopped as he noticed Erik gingerly bringing the mannequin to the boat.

"Leave the doll, Erik."

"We have to bring the doll," he insisted.

Nadir shook his head. "Absolutely not. I have no such room in my…" he paused as he watched his friend's eyes fall obsessively over the doll's fine features.

"You don't understand," Erik replied, his voice just above a whisper. "There's something about her." His arms embraced her as though she were a living, breathing person. "We have a connection. Besides, just look at her- she's exquisite."

"It's a doll, Erik."

He pressed his cheek up against the cool plastic of her cheek. Slowly, he pulled away from the doll, a sudden look of horror on his face, he held the mannequin at arm's length. "Oh God, Nadir."

Nadir winced at his friend's sudden change of expression, dreading Erik's recollection. "What is it?"

"You would tell me the truth, wouldn't you?"

"Without revealing too much about your past, yes, of course."

All the color had left Erik's face, and his heart began to pound wildly. "Am I…am I…" he stammered, dreading the answer that Nadir might give. How could he possibly give voice to such a question, he wondered. "Am I a pervert?"

Suppressing a laugh, Nadir tried to keep a straight face. _I could really have fun with this_. But, as luck would have it, his conscience got the better of him. "No, Erik, you are most certainly not a pervert." His blackish-brown eyes turned upward thoughtfully. " I don't think."

* * *

It seemed a long trek out of the catacombs as Erik and Nadir found their way methodically from the lair. Finally, they reached a secret exit from the Paris Opera House. The dark sky revealed that there was little time before sunrise, and right on cue, a taxi was quick to retrieve them.

Erik stayed silent as his friend carefully explained his plan. So long as his injuries were not serious he would stay with Nadir in his flat just outside the city.

"And," he told Erik with eyes as serious as death, "you will not under any circumstances return to the Opera house or set foot on the streets of Paris."

Reluctantly the masked man agreed. What choice, for now, did a man without a memory have?

"There's also the issue of your surname to be considered," Nadir told him.

"Surname? What is my surname?"

"I am not going to discuss it, Erik. Besides, for now the doctor will require that sort of information, and we must give you one that cannot be tracked by the police."

"Very well then. Do you have pen and paper?"

Nadir looked at his friend curiously. "Why?" he asked, pulling a pen from his jacket pocket, and an old business receipt from his wallet.

"Because," Erik replied, accepting the items from Nadir. "It's not enough just to think of a name. It also has to look acceptable in writing."

Nadir rolled his eyes at his friend's eccentricity.

"Now then," Erik began, tapping the end of the pen thoughtfully against his left cheek. "Should it be a French name?"

"Like Rousseau. Erik Rousseau?" Nadir suggested.

"Or Fournier…"

"How about …Dubois…Erik Dubois…"

Erik put pen to paper, quickly scribbling the two names together, but shook his head. "Maybe not…"

"Petit. Erik Petit."

The masked man turned to his friend. "Are you joking?" he asked, his tone full of disdain, and lips curved into a frown. He turned back to his paper. "How about Michel?"

Nadir let out a snort. "Michel, from Hebrew, for who is like God?"

"Alright, maybe not. I was born in England, was I not?" His eyes opened wide at the realization. "I was born in England, Nadir!" he stated happily.

Reserved, Nadir commented with feigned happiness, "Yes, brilliant, do you recall anything else?"

Furrowing his brows, Erik searched his mind again, and another frown fell over his lips. "No."

"Well then, let us begin with English surnames. Smith…Erik Smith."

"Too common."

"Williams," Nadir suggested.

Erik scribbled the name onto the paper but then shook his head once more. "No…maybe…"

"Butler?"

"Again, are you joking?"

Nadir sighed, as he was beginning to tire of this activity. "Campbell, Barnes, Morgan, Harrison, Turner…for the love of Allah, just choose one, Erik."

"None of those are right for me, Nadir. One doesn't just pick a name out of a hat and adopt it as their own. It has to sound right, look right, feel…" A fresh name hit Erik like a bolt of lightning, stopping his words in their tracks. "I think, my friend, I have found myself a name." He took a breath and scribbled it onto the paper.

With a raised eyebrow, Nadir scooted towards his friend and read the name with a smile. "It's good, Erik. Very dignified. And just in time," he told him, pointing to the office the cab was pulling alongside. "We're here."

* * *


	3. He's a Quack

A/N: Thanks to Grannydaisytoo for her suggestion with the name, and thanks to all of you for reading and for your feedback!

Chapter 3- He's a Quack

"Patient's name is Mr. Erik Windsor, forty years of age, six feet two inches tall, one hundred seventy pounds, Caucasian male. Mr. Windsor has suffered a concussion due to severe head trauma. The laceration is the length of five centimeters. The CT scan shows no serious damage, but the patient suffers from amnesia…" the doctor paused for just a moment, holding the tape recorder next to his mouth, and then clicked a button on the small device.

Erik waited impatiently as the young doctor, who was roughly his age, continued to speak into the recorder, pausing in between, clicking the pause button before beginning again, seemingly forgetting that Nadir and he were in the room at all.

"So, Doctor?" he interrupted, becoming annoyed with the doctor's bedside manner. "When is my memory going to return?"

The doctor's beady brown eyes settled on Erik's mask once again, preoccupying the professional's attention. Ignoring Erik's question, he remarked, "So, I'm assuming that whatever abnormality your mask is meant to cover is not related to last night's accident?" he asked in his monotone American voice.

"You assume correctly," Nadir informed him.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to take a look."

Erik was becoming very impatient, and his head was beginning to pound. "If you could just tell me if my memory…"

Nadir elbowed the masked man. "Just let him have a look, Erik. He's a doctor!"

Shooting a glare to his friend, he turned back to the doctor, who to Erik, looked more interested now than he had been about the injury. Erik had caught the horror underneath the mask reflected in the long mirror at the lair. His gaze fell to the floor. The doctor's constant glances toward the right side of his face were impossible to ignore, and he couldn't help but feel self-conscious.

"Agreed," Erik said, and then looked to his friend with spite, "but Nadir, I want you to wait outside."

His mouth fell open at his friend's request. "But, I've already seen you without the bloody mask."

The doctor intervened, his face serious. "If it would make Mr. Windsor more comfortable, Mr. Khan, please have a seat outside."

Grudgingly, Nadir's blackish brown eyes moved from the doctor's beady brown ones to Erik's deep blue eyes. He didn't like the victorious smirk on the masked man's face, and half-wondered if he was going to childishly stick his tongue at him, but he was not going to argue with the man. Muttering something about an ingrate, he left the two alone.

"Now, then, Mr. Windsor. Let's have a look."

Taking a breath, Erik removed the mask and held it tightly in his fingers as he raised his eyes to the doctor's curious gaze.

The man didn't wince, or grimace at Erik's appearance, but merely studied it with a professional curiosity. His brown eyes scanned over the long ridges on Erik's cheek, the bulging veins on the surface, the slight droop to his right eye.

"This deformity was due to a…?" the doctor asked, giving him the opportunity to fill in the blank.

Erik replied, a questioning look on his face. "A birth defect?"

"Are you asking me?"

"I do not recall how I acquired my deformity. I have amnesia, Doctor, and my head hurts!"

"Of course. Are you allergic to any medications?" he asked casually, as he opened a drawer, and pulled out a small sealed packet.

"Not that I am aware."

The doctor handed him the sample package. "Headaches may come and go as a result of your injury. Call me if they occur frequently or are intolerable."

Accepting the packet from him, he asked in an annoyed tone, "Can I put the mask back on now?"

"Of course." The man sat down at his desk, sitting straight up in his chair.

"And my memory?"

"In all likelihood your memory will return, Mr. Windsor, in as soon as an hour or as long as several months. So go home, relax, stay away from strenuous activity for a few weeks, and call if you have any questions or concerns."

A sigh emerged, long and hard, from Erik's mouth. He found it unnerving how Nadir and this doctor could say those words so casually to him. This was his life, and to be told that he could be a walking question mark for an unknown length of time disturbed him deeply.

"Good day, Doctor," Erik said, nodding sadly, and turning towards the door. "Thank you."

"Mr. Windsor?" he called to him before he could exit. With a serious expression, the doctor stepped toward Erik. "As far as your deformity - I know someone who might be able to help you."

* * *

Nadir and Erik stepped into the cab, sheltering their heads from the falling rain.

"The man's a quack, Nadir."

"He's not a quack, Erik."

"He couldn't answer my questions," Erik insisted.

"Listen, he is a doctor, not a psychic. We should be thankful that you are not in a coma. As he said, you may recall bits and pieces of your past, but there is no reason that it should not fully return, so please, for now, let us concentrate on getting you settled in my flat and be thankful also that because he is a friend, he is not asking too many questions, and has released you into my care."

Erik sat up in the seat, listening to the pattering of the rain onto the windshield of the taxi. He was silent for the next few minutes until he turned again to his olive-skinned friend. "The doctor referred me to a plastic surgeon."

Nadir's eyebrows rose in surprise. "How do you feel about that?"

"I'm thinking about it. I don't like the way I look under the mask. I don't want to hide away anymore because of my face."

"People who truly care about you, Erik, can see past it," Nadir told him quietly.

"I'm not so sure if that is true."

Opening his mouth to disagree, Nadir stopped himself as he observed the wistful look in his friend's eyes.

"Why had I never considered it before?" Erik asked him.

Nadir shrugged his shoulders. "You were not one to go to doctors, or, for that matter, to anyone for help. I know this sounds harsh, but you were very much about self-pity, my friend."

Erik found it difficult to hear Nadir's truthful words. It was even harder to accept. Erik turned to his olive-skinned friend, his eyes glowing with new hope. "I am not that man anymore."

* * *

Somehow Erik could not shake the image of that realistic mannequin from his mind. Those haunting brown eyes seemed to penetrate his very soul. As he unpacked his clothing from his suitcase an idea popped into his mind, and he rushed into the hallway to find Nadir.

"I'm a doll maker, Nadir. Right? That's what I do."

Emerging from the hall closet, he handed Erik some hangers, looking at his friend doubtfully.

Nodding, Erik gestured for emphasis as he spoke, "I made the doll, and the puppet theater, I made them with my own hands," Erik affirmed, more to himself. "I make dolls for money."

Nadir was hesitant about giving too much information. "Indeed, you have many talents, Erik, but you are not a doll maker."

Disheartened, Erik frowned, accepting the hangers from his friend, and turned to go back into Nadir's guest room. He had hoped that at least this one piece of his life could be revealed to him. Sighing, he returned to his luggage, and set about the task of hanging up his shirts. He took curious inventory of the dressy white shirts, slacks, suits, many sport coats and three tuxedos.

"Nadir?"

His friend poked his head in, finding his friend eyeing what appeared to be a fine black tailored suit.

"Are these all the clothes I possess?" he asked with a frown.

"Yes."

"Why do I dress up so much? It seems very uncomfortable…and stuffy."

Nadir didn't know how to answer and shrugged his shoulders. "Your clothing reflected your personality."

"I want to shop for new clothes, Nadir."

"Of course, Erik. We can shop in the morning. You have a consultation with the plastic surgeon tomorrow afternoon…"

'Blah, blah, blah' is all Erik heard as his friend continued to prattle on, and went back to his unpacking, humming a tune in his head when suddenly a thought hit him with the force of a hammer.

"Nadir, quickly, please get me a pen and paper!"

He wasted no time retrieving the items to satisfy his excited friend, who grabbed the pen and paper hastily from Nadir, and proceeded to scribble notes onto the sheet with a harried frenzy. Erik didn't stop in fact, until he'd filled up half the page at which point he stopped and looked at his friend with glee.

"I just knew it, Nadir!" he exclaimed, so excited that he almost jumped for joy.

"What, Erik?" Nadir asked carefully.

"I'm a composer!"

Breathing a sigh of relief, he gave a slow nod of his head. "You are a composer, Erik, of sorts."

Eyeing the notes on the formerly blank sheet of paper, Erik nodded. "Of course! It makes sense! I compose down in that cavern, where no one else can hear me, like a hermit because of my appearance, and…" he paused to raise a finger for emphasis, "I live underneath the opera house because of my love for music!"

Amused by his friend's innocent deduction, he decided it was best once again neither to agree nor refute. "That's quite a conclusion, Erik."

Throwing the paper up in the air in a celebratory fashion, Erik then clapped his graceful hands together. "It's such a relief to know something about my life." He even saw fit to go to his friend and throw his arms around him. "Isn't it wonderful, Nadir?"

Raising his black eyebrows in surprise, he pondered the uncharacteristic embrace of his friend, reciprocating the hug with a small pat on Erik's back. He didn't know who this new masked man was; he certainly was not anyone Nadir was familiar with…but one thing he knew for sure, he did not miss the eccentric, ill-tempered, antisocial man that he had been acquainted with for several years.

This change was really for the best, he thought. Nadir was sure of it. If only there was a way to be certain that Erik didn't remember EVERYTHING of his past.

* * *


	4. Recovery Time

A/N: Thank you for your feedback, please keep it coming! It is always appreciated & your input sometimes influences the shape of the story. Thanks as always for reading and please review!

Chapter 4- Recovery Time

He was young, probably five years younger than Erik, incredibly good-looking, and cocky as all hell. As the doctor arrogantly droned on about the specifics of the procedure, Erik was tempted to walk out of there, and indeed might have had the young Parisian not been one of France's top reconstructive surgeons. At first he couldn't help but feel a pinch of envy of the doctor's obvious handsome features, which only strengthened his desire to go through with the procedure.

He explained at length to the amnesiac that the damaged tissue on the right side of his face was in fact a congenital deformity, which for some reason provided Erik some relief, confirming what he had already suspected. He had not been the victim of some horrible accident, but had been born with this defect.

"So, in short, Mr. Windsor, the good news is that I'm reasonably sure that I can successfully reconstruct the right side of your face, but the bad news is that the procedure is quite costly." His green eyes avoided Erik's as he scanned the file before him. "I see here that you have no insurance, but we accept checks, major credit cards..."

Erik did not care for the smug look on the overpaid doctor's face, and would have gladly wiped it away with his fist. Instead, he patted the wad of bills inside his coat pocket. His hard-earned composer money would definitely cover the expense. Another flash of recall hit him, and he remembered there was even more money stashed away in a hidden safe inside his lair, although he had more than he needed with him. "Is cash acceptable?"

_The night before_

Nadir stopped at the door to the guest room to say goodnight and found his friend sitting before the mirror wistfully, unmasked, running his fingers gently along the rough ridges of the right side of his face.

"You don't have to go through with it."

Erik was unemotional, and his eyes stayed steadily on his own reflection. "I do, Nadir. Do you remember how everyone stared at my mask when we went shopping?"

With a frown, Nadir had to disagree. "I think what they were staring at were those awful Hawaiian shirts you were trying on."

"It was the mask, Nadir," he insisted, "and I hated it. I wanted to crawl into a hole…or worse…" He paused and turned to his friend. "Although I have no memory of it, I know that this face has brought me much misery." His gaze fell back to the mirror. "So if there is a way to correct this hideousness, I'm ready to do it. I want to look normal. I want the chance to live a normal life. Is that too much to ask?"

"Of course not. You deserve happiness, Erik."

Nodding slowly, Erik stood up and headed toward his bed. "Good night, my friend."

"Good night, Erik. Get some sleep. You have a big day tomorrow."

* * *

Nadir was not sure how much longer he would be able to take it. It had been two days since Erik's surgery, and bandaged and swollen, his friend had proved to be quite the baby about his aches and pains. Erik had reminded him of an ornery half-wrapped mummy. The doctor had already warned that it was to be expected during recovery time as with any surgery, and directed Nadir to bring Erik back to remove the stitches in seven days. As he placed the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, he once again heard an annoying little ding from Erik's bell. 

He collected his patience, and taking a deep breath, Nadir poked his head into Erik's room, to find his irritable friend sitting up in bed with arms folded. "What is it now, Erik?"

"I'm hungry."

"But, you just had soup an hour ago," Nadir retorted.

"It was soup, Nadir, and not even very good soup."

Nadir's mouth dropped. "Well, excuse me if my cooking doesn't suit your palate, Erik. You are more than welcome to fix something for yourself!"

Dramatically Erik let himself fall back into a lying position, draping the back of his hand over his partially bandaged forehead. "I caaaan't. My head huurts," he whined. "Sooo…weak."

Rolling his eyes, he acquiesced. "What is it you are hungry for?"

Erik's deep blue eyes lit up, and he rose to a seating position. "Do you have any grapes and cheese?"

With a sigh, he replied, "I'll go check the refrigerator."

Five minutes later he returned with an attractive spread of fresh green grapes, with small cubes of cheese, and a row of crackers. He set the tray down in front of his insufferable patient, and Erik smiled up at him gratefully.

"Thank you, Daroga." Erik's eyes grew wide upon speaking that name. "Daroga! You were… a sheriff… in Iran!"

Nadir's face lit up at the recollection. "You remember me?"

"No," Erik told him blankly. "I only remember that I call you daroga."

"Oh." Slightly disappointed, Nadir turned to leave Erik with his food when the sound of a serious note in Erik's voice stopped him.

"Nadir?"

Turning to face him, he observed the solemn look on Erik's face. "We've been through a lot together, I know…and even though I cannot recall, I appreciate everything you are doing for me."

A warm smile curved at Nadir's lips. Erik was the closest thing he had to a son. He'd lost his own son, Reza nearly a decade ago, and Erik had helped to ease the young boy's pain. Now having Erik there with him in his flat, even though it was mostly annoying, there was some comfort in it. "That's what friends do, Erik. Now, eat," he told him, turning back toward the door.

A smile of mischief played at Erik's lips. "Nadir?"

This time he didn't bother to turn around. "Yes, Erik?"

"Will you feed them to me?"

Without answering, the olive-skinned man narrowed his eyes in anger, exiting the guest room, and slammed the door as he left.

* * *

"It is such a relief to be free from those stitches!" Erik exclaimed. He set a hand on his right cheek, amazed by the rounded smoothness of the flesh. The only indent he felt was the small single horizontal line next to his hairline. This, the doctor assured him would heal over nicely and would not be highly visible. 

"It's a relief to see you not scratching."

"They were itchy…and they made me feel like Frankenstein."

"Frankenstein?" Nadir laughed, reaching for his wallet from the kitchen counter. "Don't flatter yourself!"

Erik held up the hand mirror to his face, observing the slightly swollen, bruised features, comparing one side of his face to the other. "Oh, it's not pretty to look at now, Nadir. But, just give me time. After the swelling has gone down completely, and the flesh has returned to a normal color…"

"Then you might look presentable," Nadir joked, observing his scruffy, discolored face.

Smiling, Erik replied. "Maybe even better than that."

"Right," Nadir agreed, moving toward the door. "Don't burn the flat down while I'm gone."

"Do you have to go?" Erik whined.

"We are in need of some groceries, Erik, and you are better off here. You aren't exactly pretty to look at just yet."

Erik hung his head. He understood the truth of Nadir's words, but still didn't like the idea of being left behind. "But, I'm sooooo booooored."

Nadir rolled his eyes. "Nonsense, Erik. Pick up a book…"

"But, I've read them all," he countered.

"Then turn on the television for Allah's sake!"

"But, Nadir, you know I detest the telly."

A frustrated sigh escaped Nadir, and his eyes bulged out angrily. "Turn on the computer, surf the web, play solitaire, compose, do something, anything!" He did not wait for Erik's response and quickly exited the flat. Having him there for nearly two weeks had drained every ounce of patience and understanding from his soul. He needed a break, even if it meant peforming the detested job of running out for groceries. After Erik was fully recovered, which he hoped would be very soon, Nadir would return to his job as a private investigator.

Erik exhaled an angry breath, and resisted the urge to take the lovely antique vase on Nadir's dining room table and throw it swiftly at the door. He roamed the flat aimlessly, pondering his options. _Turn on the computer and surf the web_. Erik hadn't had a clue on where to begin. _Compose. Without his piano, what good would that do? _Nadir had left a deck of cards on the kitchen counter _Solitaire…bo-ring._ He wandered out to the living room and eyed the detestable large screen television that occupied the better part of one wall. _Television- it pollutes the mind_. He'd always told Nadir as much, and when his friend had turned it on, he'd made a point of it to leave the room, so as not to subject himself to the mindless content of the ridiculously sized device. Erik turned away from it, openly rejecting it, as though it had feelings.

_Bored. Bored. Bored. What else was there to do?_

**1 Hour Later**

Erik barely heard Nadir walk in as his eyes stayed fastened to the large screen. Fascinated, he watched as the newscaster reported the weather.

"Erik? I could use a hand." Struggling with three bags of groceries, he was pleasantly surprised that his friend had taken an interest in the TV at last.

Erik gave Nadir the hand and told him to shush.

Setting the bags on the counter, Nadir ignored the rude gesture. "I need some help, Erik, with the groceries."

Hesitantly, Erik walked away from the living room, his eyes still glancing back toward the hypnotic screen. He made his way to the front door and retrieved the three other filled paper bags that were on the ground. After bundling them in his arms, he met Nadir in the kitchen.

Nadir took out the vegetables and placed them in a drawer in the refrigerator. "So you made peace with the television."

"I had no idea!" Quickly, Erik unloaded item after item from each bag. "It's been showing story after story of rape, murder, kidnappings. Just before the weather," he paused and looked to Nadir with wide eyes. "Did you know they report the weather?"

Unimpressed, Nadir took two cans from Erik's hands. "It's the news, Erik."

"It's all terrible news, Nadir. Not just here and in Paris, but all around the world. Did you know that they were showing a high speed car pursuit?" he asked, his voice full of excitement.

Nadir turned to the grocery bags. "It's life, Erik, and despite how they make it look, it isn't all bad."

Leaning against the counter, he shook his head in wonder. "There's a whole world out there that I've been hiding from for years."

Nodding, Nadir straightened out the dairy products on the shelf in the refrigerator to make some room. "This is true, my friend."

"Not anymore," he vowed. "Once I'm healed, Erik Windsor is not going to hole up in a cave any longer. No, I am going to go outdoors, talk to people, Nadir, I am going to live!"

"Yes, of course, Erik, but you will be careful with whom you speak, and about what you speak. You are still a wanted man…which reminds me, I have to reach Antoinette. I am sure she is wondering about you by now."

"Who is Antoinette?"

"Madame Giry is quite possibly the only other friend that you have. She has sacrificed much to protect you, and she deserves to know what has happened."

Erik searched his mind, but could not recall the name. "Of course," he said absently, his eyes straying again towards the television.

"I will e-mail her straightaway." He finished setting some eggs into the shelf basket, and when he looked for Erik, he found his friend planted once again in front of the television.

* * *

Approvingly, the doctor's eyes met the reconstructed profile of Erik's face. His fingers traced the area above the eyebrow, and pressed flatly on the smooth skin of his cheek, as he questioned how it felt. Admiring his handiwork, he was quite proud of himself this time. The results were better even than he had anticipated, and as always, his greatest gratification came from seeing the smile on Mr. Windsor's face. 

"It looks good, Mr. Windsor. The bruising is almost completely gone, and you are ready to take on the world."

_Not the world_, Erik thought with an amused grin, _not yet_…_For now, just Paris_.

Erik was more than satisfied with the results, and though the surgery had cost an exorbitant amount of his composing money, he felt that it was worth every cent.

* * *


	5. New Face, New Life

A/N: So many liberties have been taken with this one, please bear with me, and as always thanks for reading and please review!

Chapter 5- New Face, New Life

Nadir finished tying his tie as he walked from his room, and sighed as he found his friend, dressed in navy blue sweats, his sweatshirt sporting a large logo of the Eiffel Tower, and disturbingly, he was once more immersed in the television's programming.

"Turn off the television already, Erik!"

Erik had his mouth full of popcorn as he turned to Nadir. "Are you insane?" He had bags under his eyes, and his customarily immaculately combed hair was messily swept upward in a thick black mess. He appeared as though he had not slept in two days. "The muscular man on the left wearing the black tank top," he began, chewing as he pointed to the left side of the screen, "he was enclosed in a glass case full of cockroaches for two full minutes, longer than the rest of the contestants," he informed him, his face full of awe. "And now it's his turn to eat as many earthworms as possible in sixty seconds."

Nadir frowned. "Erik, this is exactly the type of content that you referred to as mindless drivel. Now turn off the television."

When Erik made no move, Nadir crossed to the TV, and turned the power button off.

Erik wasted no time in aiming the remote, and restored the power. After the two grown friends repeated these antics back and forth three times, Nadir shook his head in exasperation and moved to block the sensor so Erik could not turn the television back on.

Stubbornly Erik focused his attention solely on the large screen. "Don't you have to leave for work?"

"Indeed, I do, Erik. But now that you have your new face, I'll be damned if I'm going to allow you to waste your new life watching the boob tube!"

"What if I'm not ready?" he asked quietly. "What if I'm just not ready to go out on my own?"

"I'll tell you what. Tonight we will go out and celebrate…together. For now, I only want you to take a cab and go shopping. Buy yourself something other than some jeans and that dreary exercise clothing."

Erik was silent, and for a moment Nadir was sure that he had completely ignored him. To his dismay, the formerly masked man was now leaning from side to side with the remote in an attempt to switch the power back on. Nadir checked the time on his watch, and he felt as though steam was bursting from his ears as he heard the voices resume from the annoying American reality show.

He was just short of screaming at the top of his lungs when an idea popped into his mind like a dazzling fluorescent bulb. "Don't make me unplug the television and cancel cable!"

With a loud gasp, Erik looked up at Nadir with horrified blue eyes. "You wouldn't!"

Calmly, Nadir nodded with a big smile. "I absolutely would."

Flicking the remote onto the sofa, Erik gave up, folding his arms tightly across his chest. "Fine."

"Good. If I don't leave now, I'm going to be late!"

Carefully, Erik listened as he heard the door open and close, and in a flash snatched the remote back up, desperately flipping the television back on.

"Erik! Turn off the TV!" Nadir's voice shouted through the door.

"I will!" Erik shouted back, grateful that his olive-skinned friend had to leave. He clutched the remote tightly in his hand and smiled a smug little grin. "Right after Jeopardy."

* * *

Dressed in faded blue jeans, a black wool sweater, and a heavy black coat, Erik stepped out of the cab onto the avenue of stores where he and Nadir had previously shopped. Squinting against the bright grayish color of the sky, he paid the fare, and watched as the taxi left him. It had been a week since the follow-up with the doctor, and the first time he had been out in public. He still could not help feeling self-conscious as he walked along the street, past the café's and bakeries, amongst the other shoppers. His long legs strode, and with a nervous feeling in his stomach, he walked the boulevard, receiving many glances from the opposite sex. As a few ladies greeted him with smiles and waves, he finally began to relax, his posture straightening more with every step and his chest puffing out proudly. He had a giddy feeling of acceptance, and as Erik made his way through the shops without the help of his picky Iranian friend, he felt completely at ease. With several shopping bags in tow, he made his way out of a shoe store and felt a damp dot fall gently onto his nose. He stopped and looked up at the sky, enthralled with the beauty of the falling snow flurries. As cold as it was, nothing had seemed as beautiful to him as the sight of this gift from mother nature, and nothing had ever felt as right as the blissful freedom he experienced at that moment. Holding out his palms to catch the feathery flakes, he smiled up at the sky, embracing the spirit of peace within his soul, giving a silent thanks to God above, for his new life, and for his new - found freedom.

* * *

"You are not wearing that." Wearing dark brown slacks, and a navy dress shirt and sport coat, Nadir felt extremely overdressed as he looked at the ridiculous garb Erik was wearing. It was totally inappropriate. 

Erik held out his arms questioningly, turning a full 360 degrees to show off his new outfit.

Nadir eyed the bright orange floral pattern on Erik's shirt distastefully. "We talked about Hawaiian shirts, Erik. For Allah's sake, have you no dignity, man?"

With a sigh, his eyes fell to the carpeted floor of Nadir's living room. "It's fun. It's fresh, it's-"

"Painful to look at," Nadir offered. "Obviously you cannot be trusted to shop for yourself. Now, please go change so that we can go have some fun."

Erik looked at him doubtfully, his feelings hurt by Nadir's remarks. "Fun…right."

Minutes passed as Nadir tidied up the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher, and wiped down the counters. He took a glance at his watch, wondering what could possibly be taking so long when finally he heard Erik's voice calling from his room.

Nadir gasped in horror as he found Erik in his room, wearing a white tee shirt, black thong underwear, and black socks, holding up two different outfits.

"What do you think?" Erik asked, holding first one hanger up, and then the other.

Nadir clasped his hand over his eyes. "What do I think? I think I could have been happy all night not seeing you wearing that…that…underwear."

"It's called a thong," Erik provided helpfully.

"I know what it is called! Put on some boxer shorts, please, now!"

"The beautiful saleslady assured me that it is what all the modern men are wearing," Erik replied, a puzzled look on his face.

Turning from him, Nadir spoke through his teeth. "She was trying to make a sale, Erik! And I can assure you, modern men do not wear thongs."

Erik exhaled a frustrated breath. "Fine. Just please, which outfit?"

Turning back to face his scantily clad friend, he set his hand back over his eyes and blindly pointed to the closest ensemble. "Now, get dressed. I'll wait in the living room."

"I'll be five minutes." He glanced at his watch and called out to Nadir, who had quickly left his view. "Hey, Macgyver is on!"

* * *

Erik was not so sure about this place. It was a bar with a small dance floor and blaring music. The fast beat pounded in his chest as too many people crowded the area. The smoke from the cigarettes made him cough, and the excessive number of people in one room made him feel claustrophobic. Nadir gestured him toward the bar, where the two friends were able to snag stools. The bartender quickly tended to them, and Erik was quick to order a Scotch. As Nadir gave his drink order, Erik's eyes wandered the room. Attractive women dressed in short skirts and low cut blouses captured his eye, and Nadir had to snap his fingers in front of his face to get his attention. 

"Now, how is this?" Nadir asked.

Erik frowned. "It's quite noisy."

"What?" Nadir asked, with his brows furrowed, lifting his hand to his ear.

"I said, it's noisy!" Erik shouted.

The bartender set down their drinks before them, and Nadir lifted his with a smile. "Never mind that, my friend. We are here to celebrate," he said loudly, lifting his glass. "To your new life."

Nodding, Erik smiled and lifted his glass, and repeated, "To my new life."

Their glasses came together with a clink, and the two took a large gulp, but before Erik could set his drink back down, he felt two feminine hands run up his back to rest onto his shoulders.

"Hello, handsome," a heavily accented Italian voice greeted.

Erik shot Nadir a puzzled glance, and Nadir gestured for him to turn around. Quickly he turned to meet an attractive brunette with dazzling green eyes, and shiny full red lips. Before he could say or do anything, those lips advanced onto his own, and he was overcome by the woman's perfume, and the welcoming softness of her mouth.

* * *

Meg's mouth fell open and she shuddered, taking a sip of her wine. She reached for a chip and dipped it into some salsa. "Can you believe her?" she asked Christine, pointing to the woman who had just thrown herself at some random man at the bar. 

"Un…believable," Christine replied, shaking her head. "She just broke up with Piangi, and now she's already hitting on a stranger."

"I heard that Piangi had some girl on the side."

Christine giggled. "Can you blame him?" Her small hand picked up her glass and took a sip of her wine. "The woman is evil."

"She's feeling threatened by you, Christine. After all, you did fill in for her when she walked out, and performed her role better than she did."

It was true, but instead of being caught up in the glory of her first success, their success; hers and her angel's, her heart ached from his absence. Before she could speak another word, Meg gasped, her blue eyes watching the vixen dragging the man out of the bar by his tie.

Shaking her head again, she ignored the promiscuous actions of their fellow performer. "Can we please talk about something else?"

Nodding, Meg's eyes lit up. "Alright, let me see it," she said, taking Christine's left hand in hers.

"I don't feel him anymore."

Meg took a sip of her wine, her bright blue eyes admiring the sizable sparkling stone that adorned Christine's finger. "Who cares whether you feel Raoul! Look at the size of this rock. It could buy a flat!"

Christine took another large gulp of her drink, the sound of the loud music pounding in her head. "I wasn't talking about Raoul, Meg."

Meg finally met the depressed expression on her friend's face. "Listen to me, Christine. You have to get over him."

"I thought I could, but I haven't felt him for almost a month. No warm, comforting thoughts, none of his songs in my head."

"Right. And we both know why that is. Remember the whole Joseph Buquet murder incident? If he is as smart as you say he is, he has gone far from here."

"I don't believe that Erik is responsible for Joseph Buquet's death, Meg."

The blond beauty looked at her friend incredulously. "Oh come on, Christine. You are kidding yourself."

Christine's eyes widened and her arms folded across her chest in defense. "No, Meg. That night, the stagehands told the police that Joseph was as drunk as a skunk, and it's no secret that the man took anti-depressants. I know how you all feel about Erik, but I don't think that he is a murderer."

"No, just a ghost who haunts and manipulates, causing mysterious accidents to occur."

Christine shook her head firmly. "No, I don't believe it. Erik did not murder anyone."

Forcing herself to keep her mouth shut, Meg brought her drink to her lips.

"It's been four weeks and there have been no notes, he hasn't sung to me or visited my room," Christine confided, taking another sip.

As much as she wanted, Meg could no longer hold her tongue. "You agreed to marry Raoul, Christine."

Wincing, a sudden horrific realization took hold of her. "Do you think he knows, Meg? What if Erik heard us singing on the rooftop that night? Maybe that's why he left!"

She started to take large gulping breaths as though she were about to hyperventilate.

"Calm down," Meg told her, grabbing Christine's forearms. "Easy now, Christine, breathe easy." Demonstrating a correct breathing pattern, Meg urged her friend to follow suit, until she was certain that her friend was not about to cause herself to lose consciousness.

"So tell me, if Monsieur Phantom was so wonderful, why did you accept Raoul's proposal?"

Christine's large brown eyes began to fill with tears. "I was stupid… and afraid that Erik actually was capable of…" She shook her head, mentally berating herself for her traitorous thoughts. "And I've known Raoul since childhood, and that night when the whole opera house was screaming with madness, I felt safe in his arms when he kissed me…" She observed her friend's doubtful expression, and then in a small voice she continued, "And he smelled good."

"Well, of course he did. The man's nearly royalty, for God's sake. Raoul's handsome, smart, rich, charming…what could you possibly have seen in that masked man anyway?"

"It was never about looks. I, for one, believe that beauty is only skin deep. Sure, what is hidden beneath that mask isn't pretty to look at, but Erik has beauty within his soul. His love transcends any earthly emotion. The magic of his voice brought me to my knees…"

Meg raised a blond eyebrow. "And so you didn't sleep with him, because?"

Christine's mouth fell open. "He would never do anything I didn't want him to do! He was kind and sweet. He loved me with his words." Christine stopped herself, realizing that she must have sounded like a babbling fool. She looked to her friend resolutely. "Erik was a gentleman."

* * *

Two hours later 

"A gentleman never kisses and tells," Erik told Nadir with a smug smile, taking off his jacket and plopping down on the sofa.

"You sir, are no gentleman," Nadir laughed at the recollection of Erik being dragged off by his necktie by the bold beauty. "Did you even ask her name?"

"She said to call her Carla, and even informed me that she sings at the Opera house. It was such a coincidence, Nadir, but I don't remember her. We were there in her flat. It was so gaudy, and decorated in different shades of pink, and Carla, she had an incredible body…but believe it or not, she began to sing to me, and the sound of her voice made my skin crawl. I thought she might break the mirrors with her high-pitched shrieking. So, I made my apologies, and left."

Nadir nodded thoughtfully. "Well, you did the right thing, I suppose. You want a nice girl, Erik, and this Carla was definitely not a nice girl."

"It wasn't only that." He untied his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. "It just didn't feel right."

Nadir let out a long yawn. "It's late, and I have to work tomorrow, Erik. Good night." He turned and headed toward his bedroom.

"Nadir, there is a woman, and I have the distinct feeling that I am in love with her."

Quickly, he turned on his heels in alarm. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I can feel it. It sounds strange, but while we were at the bar, I thought I actually felt her presence."

To Nadir it did sound crazy, and now he wasn't so sure he should ask, as he did not want to prompt this particular memory. "Do you remember who this woman is, Erik?"

"No," he replied, standing and making his way toward his room. He stopped for a moment, turning to Nadir, and told him firmly, "But I do intend to find out."

* * *


	6. To the Lair

Chapter 6- To the Lair

"Why won't you tell me where he is?" Christine demanded. Her delicate hands were balled into fists.

Unaffected, the ballet instructor resumed filing her nails. Before her vanity mirror she sat, her long, light brown hair tucked tightly in a bun. For a woman in her late forties, her face reflected youth. Her graceful movements indicated years of discipline. "Christine, as I have told you already. I know as much as you do. I have neither seen nor heard from him," she told her coolly. Technically this was true, although there had been the e-mail from Nadir. He had given strict instructions not to betray their secret, and Antoinette knew better than to give in to the young woman's curiosity. Setting the nail file down, she stood and placed gentle hands on Christine's shoulders. "Now run along, Christine. Remember you have a costume fitting, and then rehearsal later."

"But…"

Antoinette raised a darkly penciled brow in warning. "That is all, Christine," she told her dismissively, using a tone the nearly twenty-year-old knew was not to be trifled with.

Heaving a sigh, she left the room, shutting the door forcefully behind her. Furious, Christine stood outside of Madame Giry's door. The woman was the closest thing she had to a mother, and it disturbed her to no end that she would not give her any information about Erik. Since Christine had come to the Opera house as a child, she had been treated as though she were a daughter, and being raised with Madame's own Meg, had always felt loved and cared for. Though, the young soprano could not help wondering if Meg really did know more than she was letting on. She doubted somehow that Madame had made her daughter privy to any information. The woman who had loved Christine and raised her knew something; of that she was certain, she felt it in her heart and in her soul. No longer content to sit and wonder about her estranged angel of music, Christine decided to do something about it.

* * *

Erik finally had a purpose. 

After five weeks of memory loss, the former phantom decided he had wasted enough of his time in front of Nadir's big screen television. He had not shared his feelings of depression with his friend. The disheartening lack of recall of his former life had been too much for his mind to accept. Day after day had passed, and although the flashes came sporadically, they were tiny bits of useless information that offered little comfort. With no other way to occupy his time, Erik had developed an unreasonable addiction to the television…until he experienced that incredible feeling at the bar the night before. It was an uncanny awareness of an emotion larger than life, an amazing perception of a missing piece of himself, right there in that same vicinity. It was for but a split second that he felt it, and now could have kicked himself for leaving the bar with that impetuous brunette. He had gone to bed the night before, unable to sleep, his mind torturing him with that regret. If only he had stayed…

His hair was combed back neatly, the ebony locks now falling to his shoulders. Dressed in black slacks, and a warm charcoal sweater, he was finishing the rest of his coffee, as Nadir greeted him in the kitchen with a surprised expression.

"You're dressed?" Nadir smiled, observing his neatly dressed, clean-shaven friend.

"Of course," Erik responded plainly.

"Are you going out today?" he asked as he pulled a cup from the cabinet and poured himself some coffee.

Erik had no intention of telling Nadir his actual plans for the day, except this one, "I am going to get a haircut."

With a satisfied smile, Nadir could not have felt any prouder, as though Erik were his own son taking his first eager steps into the world. "Wonderful, Erik. I am pleased that you have not decided to continue your life as a couch potato."

"Well," Erik said, clearing his throat. "Don't worry," he said with a smirk. "I'll be back in plenty of time for Jeopardy."

* * *

With one hand she hugged the thick sweatshirt across her chest for warmth, and with the other she held the flashlight up, lighting her path, as she prayed silently, asking God to show her the way. She stepped lightly upon the stone path, and her shoes made small clicking sounds that echoed in the darkness. _Turn this way. Now, to the right, avoid that trapdoor… _As she made her way through the dark labyrinth, Christine wished that she had paid more attention when Erik had guided her, favoring instead, the alluring cerulean blue of his eyes, and the addictive sensuality of his voice. Christine missed her maestro desperately, and rather than remembering the harsh teaching methods he employed through her mirror, all her mind could recall now was the mysterious man behind the mask. After years of believing he was the angel of music her deceased father had once promised to send to her, Erik had finally revealed himself to be flesh and blood. The gentle yet commanding tone of his voice had called to her, mesmerizing her with its hypnotic quality. Indeed, it was overwhelming to find that he had made his home beneath the cellars of the Opera House like some sort of odd masked recluse, but she soon found herself comforted by his music, swayed by the beauty of his song. Erik treated her like a fragile doll, lavishing her with anything she desired, in the way a father spoils a daughter. But, it was when they sang together late into the night, that Christine's affection for him began to take a deeper turn. Their voices came together in a passionate duet, and although her physical innocence was intact, they shared a bond and a love that transcended bodily pleasures…though, there was rarely a time when Christine had not pondered what it would be like to truly share such intimacy with her angel.

There were times when Erik's jealousy proved too much for the young woman, disallowing her any kind of a life outside the opera house. He commanded complete dedication from her, and promised that with his help and influence she would be the star instead of a chorus girl. Christine had believed him, but at the same time, she had a strong suspicion that not only was Carla's voice breaking into a curious croak that fateful night not a coincidence, but also the many other unfortunate occurrences that had befallen the mean-spirited soprano were probably the result of Erik's machinations.

Christine would not let herself think on that any longer as she reached the small boat, paddling it across the lake as Erik had done so many times before. The portcullis was open. If the large iron gate had been closed, she may have believed her angel to be inside his lair. Her heart sank. She reached the small shore and secured the boat to its hook. As she stepped out onto the rock shelf, she found the doll that Erik had created in her likeness laying on the cold stone floor. The first time that he had revealed it to her, she was disturbed, but impressed at the same time. After he had expressed that it was a tribute to her, she finally saw past the troublesome gesture of obsession, and accepted it as a piece of art, admiring the fine details that Erik had so painstakingly sculpted into it. The wedding dress had been the latest addition, and as strongly as she felt for him at the time, she found herself more flattered than disturbed by the idea. Now, the doll lay on its back, the arms extended outward, the eyes staring blankly up into the cavern, and its elegant bridal gown hung haphazardly from the mannequin. _Abandoned_. It was the way Christine felt, and had felt for weeks. Without Erik, she felt lifeless, without spirit, with all the soul of the dummy she now carried in her hands.

Uselessly, she called out to him, her eyes studying his furnishings, his possessions, desperately in search of any clue to his disappearance. She set the mannequin back in its original location next to the long mirror, and tucked its legs safely into the stand, straightening the folds of the dress and brushing out the wrinkles. With the utmost care, her fingers combed at the long tresses, satisfied that should he find the doll again, it would not be laying sadly on the cold, hard ground, but standing, her eyes bright, and awaiting her angel's return. With a heavy sigh, she continued to call out to him, moving through the rooms of his domain, her heart sinking again. _He was gone._ She picked up his most prized possession, the music box with the lively monkey, with its velvety red vest, and gold cymbals. It was the only thing she had left of him. Tears stung at her eyes as she ran her fingers over the decorative antique. Christine had an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach, uncertain if she would ever see him again.

* * *

Seated in the back seat of the taxi, Erik gazed out at the Paris scenery. He could not help but admire the large city buildings, taking note of the architecture, imagining with his mind their complex designs, down to every last detail. _Perhaps I am an architect as well?_

He would definitely have to question Nadir about that one.

He had already planned it in his head, his arrival at the Opera house. With the natural stealth of a fox, he approached the large building, unseen, his eyes glancing about, making sure he was not being watched as he slipped into the Opera Populaire through the hidden entrance Nadir had used when he brought him out of the labyrinth.

He knew the way instinctively. Like riding a bike, Erik did not have to summon his memories for the direction to his home. He knew every step, every turn, precisely how many steps led to his underground haven.

True to his word, he had gone to the barber as promised, but then proceeded to the place where he might find some answers. The underground tunnels were darker than he had anticipated, but with his cat-like vision, he made his way with little trouble. He paddled the boat carefully across the lake, allowing his instinct to guide him.

To his dismay, he found that upon docking the boat, that the exquisite doll was not where Nadir had hastily insisted Erik leave her. He wondered if the daroga had been correct in assuming that the police had discovered his former home, and perhaps removed the lifelike figure. _What else was missing_, he wondered. His heart ached at the loss, shaking him to the core that he may never again behold the beauty of its countenance.

Though several weeks had passed, with remarkable clarity Erik was reliving the disturbing lost feeling he had experienced the last time he walked the cavern. Unfortunately, he recalled little else as he stepped through the lair. As though they had a mind of their own, his fingers sought the glossy keys of the piano, and his body took willingly to the bench. His music called to him, and quickly his skillful fingers responded, allowing the harmony to enter his soul, and as he played the piece in its entirety without the assistance of sheet music, his spirit soared. He felt more contentment than he had in weeks…and for just a moment, in his mind, Erik was sure he heard the ethereal vocals of an angel singing in accompaniment. And as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

With a sigh, he stood up from the grand instrument, and made his way towards the location of the safe, which he recalled to be hidden behind a mirror in his bedroom, stopping several times along the way to examine an object, closing his eyes, summoning a memory, something, anything. Frustrated, he made his way to his bed chamber and approached the safe. Oddly, the combination came to his fingers without any thought. Upon opening the small heavy door, his hand shuffled furiously among the several piles of cash, rifling for any sort of paperwork, birth certificate, and legal documents. _Nothing_.

Another sigh emerged, and he concluded that for all the money he possessed, he must have been a very successful composer.

Locating a small duffel bag, Erik loaded it with the plentiful piles, and closed the safe, then lingered about the room. Uselessly he wandered, from his closet to his bureau, to his bathroom, praying with every step that God might grant him back his memory. Back in the main room, he brushed his hand against the red velvet draperies, which parted slightly to reveal a revolving mirror, and before looking further, out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of long, shiny auburn hair. His heart leapt for joy as he covered the short distance to his beloved mannequin, finding her standing exactly where she was before he had moved her. As his eyes met the sweet loveliness of her face, he wondered how the doll had made it back into its stand. It was obvious the police had not been there, because everything seemed to be in its place as far as he could recall. _Perhaps the Giry woman had been there_? Running gentle fingers along the doll's plastic cheek, he froze in place, bitten suddenly with the heavy realization that there _was_ something missing from his lair, something he treasured.

* * *

Christine wound the key to the music box for the fifth time, humming along from memory with its cheery tune. Her heart felt empty, and a cloud of desolation loomed over her. Slowly she walked to the long mirror the phantom had tutored her from behind for so many years, absently gazing at her reflection, mentally beckoning her angel to appear. 

"Christine," Meg called out, knocking forcefully on the door.

Christine turned with a start, having lost all track of time. She moved quickly to the door, and opened it to reveal the blond ballerina looking at her questioningly. "Hello, Meg."

"What are you doing? Lunch is over and rehearsal is beginning in five minutes." Meg's sparkly blue eyes set on her friend with disapproval. "Mama will have a fit if you show up dressed like that."

Dejected, Christine glanced down to the baby blue sweat outfit she was wearing. "What's wrong with this?"

Meg forged forward, hastily digging into Christine's bureau drawer, and pulled out a black leotard and tights. "That," she began with a frown, pointing to her friend's ensemble, "is not appropriate attire for dance," she informed her in a tone that sounded very much like her mother's. "And Christine, c'mon, the sweatshirt?"

Hugging her sweatshirt tightly against her skin, Christine's mouth fell open. "What?! What's wrong with it?"

The petite blond rolled her eyes, and stuffed the dance gear into Christine's arms. "Nothing, if you are a tourist. I mean, hello, it has the Eiffel Tower on it!"

"I like the Eiffel Tower," Christine said in a small voice. The truth was that Erik had given her that particular piece of clothing, as a joke. And now, besides the music box, it was her only comfort.

"We're going to be late. Hurry," Meg told her, hurriedly, practically undressing the young woman who was her sister in all but name.

Tying the long, curly locks into a ponytail, Meg barely waited for Christine to finish putting on her other shoe. "Let's go!"

"Okay," she responded, complacent. Allowing Meg to pull her by hand from the room, Christine wondered why she even bothered. All she wanted to do was hole up in her room, and lay in her bed. What was the point of going to rehearsal to sing and dance? Erik wasn't there to see her dance or to hear her sing.

_Her angel wasn't there_.

* * *

5 seconds later 

Erik arrived at the two-way mirror, his gaze curiously meeting the bedroom furnishings on the other side.

He had had that feeling again, his heart tingled with that giddy sensation, and willingly he allowed his gut to guide him to this odd sort of glass before him. After peering in at every angle, observing the room to be empty, he opened the mirror and stepped through. Inspecting the décor, he decided it was a woman's room, with its frilly bed covering, floral wallpaper, and vanity. With surprise he found the very item he had been missing- his treasured music box…another mystery. _Why was it here? Whose room was this?_ Searching around for clues, his eyes found another surprise: a sweatshirt that matched his own, in a pleasing baby blue. As he lifted the garment to his nostrils, he breathed in the faint jasmine scent, letting it fill his lungs like a breath of fresh air. That heavenly fragrance…_so familiar_…

It was all very puzzling to Erik, and what was worse was that the remarkable tingly feeling had disappeared once again like a puff of smoke. He had come to the Opera house for answers, but left only with more questions. Realizing that many hours had passed, Erik departed from his former home once again, hoping to arrive back before Nadir to avoid an interrogation.

In the back seat of a taxi once again, his mind spun with all the new input of the day, and he felt a gnawing ache nipping at the back of his head. His fingers rubbed the site of the injury, and though the bump was gone, and the laceration healed, his memory was still very much jumbled.

To his relief, he arrived back at Nadir's flat before his olive-skinned friend, and with arms full, he fussed with the door and entered. He took great care in placing his belongings into his room, and closed it up. Kicking off his shoes, he fell into the sofa, and flipped on the television, and amazingly at that moment, he saw a flash of the Italian brunette, along with many colorful costumed dancers and singers; a commercial for the production at the Opera Populaire. Though he had not been fond of Carla's vocals, his heart longed to attend the opera. Nadir, he knew, would never allow it, and would be furious if he found out about Erik's little journey today.

His head still ached, and his stomach growled. Erik made his way to the kitchen, and poured himself some water, reached the headache pills, and was popping two into his mouth when Nadir entered.

"Hello, Erik," he said with a smile, setting his briefcase and newspaper down on the kitchen table. In fact, he had been worried all day about his friend, thinking that Erik might have tried to return to the Opera house, and was half-anticipating a phone call from the Paris police. With relief, he eyed Erik's haircut approvingly. "You got your hair cut."

The ache had now spread to Erik's temples. "You're an observant one."

Nadir ignored his friend's snide comment. "How was your day?" he called out as Erik left the kitchen.

Erik plopped himself back onto the couch, throwing his feet up carelessly, rubbing at his temples, as he considered all of the day's activities. "Uneventful."

* * *

A/N: More will be revealed next chapter...hang in there with me...and please review! 


	7. It Begins With a C

A/N: Thanks as always for your feedback! I always look forward to it. Love ya guys!

Chapter 7- It Begins With a "C"

Nadir could feel the blood rush to his face, and gritted his teeth as he hissed through Erik's door. "You ungrateful…"

His face became even redder as he heard Erik's voice mocking his on the other side in a perfect imitation. "You ungrateful!"

Nadir's hands balled into fists. "Of all the immature…" he stopped himself. "I should have left you there," he shouted bitterly, pounding on the door, tempted to kick it down. "I should have left you there bleeding, should have let the police find you!"

"Should have let the police find you!" Erik mimicked, and then his tone changed alarmingly quick, and a rich, heavy laugh escaped him. "Yes," he chuckled, "maybe you should have," he said in his normal voice, and then paused, his tone softening, "What's that, my angel?" There was another pause. "Yes, dear, I agree. I wish for the awful man to leave us alone as well."

**2 days earlier…**

Nadir had become suspicious. His friend's behavior had appeared normal after his haircut, but after dinner the same night, Erik had taken to his room, locking himself inside, and spending the duration of the evening in there. Whenever he left the room, Erik was careful to shut the door behind him. For the next couple of days, Nadir had tried to coax him out, from raising the volume on the television when his favorite show came on, to offering to take Erik with him to work on a case the following day. To his dismay, Erik flatly refused. There were times as he passed Erik's room on the way to the restroom that he thought he heard his friend speaking as though in conversation, although he was never quite able to make out the words. Puzzling thoughts plagued his mind as he pondered if the former phantom's memory had, in fact, returned, or if he somehow was reverting to his former reclusive habits.

Dinner was ready, and Nadir stood outside Erik's door, puzzled once again as he listened to the low murmuring on the other side.

"Erik? Time for dinner." It was silent for a moment before he finally he heard Erik's voice.

"Alright. Thank you."

"Who are you talking to in there?"

It was quiet for another moment, except for the sound of some shuffling about. "Myself." In a flash, Erik opened the door and faced Nadir, blocking the interior guardedly with his tall frame.

The olive-skinned man raised a suspicious eyebrow. "What is going on there?"

Erik closed the door and headed towards the kitchen. "Nothing."

Following behind, Nadir continued, "This is very odd behavior, Erik. You lock yourself up in that room for hours." He made his way to the kitchen and uncovered a steaming pot.

As Erik cleared some mail from the table, he absently replied, "I just need some privacy, Nadir, surely you can understand." He no sooner said that when his eyes fell upon the newspaper, something capturing his attention as he stood there with a stack of letters in his hands.

"Privacy I can understand," Nadir told him, bracing a pot in one hand, his other hand gripping it with a potholder underneath, and then set it on the table. "What I don't understand is…" He stopped as he found his friend engrossed in the large flashy print before him. Curiously, he leaned in to read the contents.

"Absolutely not," Nadir told him firmly, wanting to rip the periodical in shreds.

Erik looked at his friend with wide eyes, feeling very insulted by his tone. He was after all, a grown man, not a child, and as he stared at the half page advertisement in the newspaper, Erik was sure that this might be the very event where he might find some answers.

"It's a masquerade, Nadir, and I'd be in disguise."

"It's at the Opera house, Erik. Bad idea."

"No one will even recognize me, not that they could now, anyway."

"It's too risky," Nadir reasoned. "All it would take would be for one of the stagehands or the ballet rats just to catch a glimpse of your profile…"

"I'm going," Erik replied quietly, his arms folded stubbornly across his chest.

Nadir breathed a long, heavy sigh, wishing that he could shake some sense into his friend. His eyes perused the inky print, and he read under his breath. "One week from today." With a sigh, he looked back at Erik. "Of course I can't stop you, but I cannot promise either that I will be there if you should need bailing out."

"Fair enough."

"Fine," Nadir retorted bitterly. After all that he'd done for Erik, he wished he would grant him this request.

"Good."

With bitterness and resentment, Nadir and Erik sat eating in silence, and for the duration of the meal they mentally berated one another. Nadir was concerned for his friend's safety and did not want to see him lose his opportunity to start anew because of this hasty decision. Erik resented that Nadir was the only person who could tell him about his past, but refused to do so, and now wanted to keep him from seeking the knowledge he so desperately craved. The motives of his so-called friend became questionable in Erik's mind.

Nadir dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, and looked with exasperation to the man before him who refused to meet his gaze. "Erik, I'm begging you to wipe this whole masquerade from your mind."

His sharp blue eyes met the imploring blackish brown ones of Nadir. "That sounds like something someone would say who himself had his very own secrets."

"What is that supposed to mean exactly?"

"How do I know that you weren't the one who caused my injury?" Erik asked suspiciously. "Maybe _you_ are the one who killed that man in the Opera house, and you are using _me _as a cover for the murder."

Nadir stood up sharply from the table. "That's absurd!"

"Oh, is it?" Erik asked accusingly, dropping his napkin onto the table, and leaning over the table into Nadir's face. "Why is it you are trying so hard to keep my identity a secret?"

The look of hurt registered on the Iranian's face. "I am trying to protect you, Erik, from yourself."

"I'm sure that's what you want me to believe. Suddenly, daroga, I find that I'm not very hungry anymore." Erik excused himself from the table, slipping back into his room, leaving his friend staring open-mouthed after him.

* * *

Nadir thought that he heard singing. Since he and Erik had not spoken a word to one another since the outburst at the dinner table, Nadir was surprised to hear the soothing, rich baritone of Erik's voice. He paused outside the door of the guest room, as he listened to Erik's warm, majestic tone, giving melody to a love song, beckoning for a duet. Seemingly, he was requesting another to join him. The singing ceased and Nadir continued to listen at the door as Erik spoke as though he were participating in conversation. 

"Tell me your name, then, my sweet."

He could hear it clearly, and shook his head, but then Erik spoke again. "No, I'll guess. Cathleen?" There was a pause before he continued, "Charlene? No, maybe Corinne…no, that's not it either. It's on the tip of my tongue…"

_Who was he talking to?_ Nadir knocked on the door, and it was silent before Erik answered.

"Yes?"

"Who are you talking to?" Nadir could hear a loud sigh from the other side of the door.

"I'm composing, Nadir, go away."

_Composing_. Nadir had his suspicions as he walked away. Somehow or other, he was determined to get into that room when Erik wasn't around.

As luck would have it, Nadir soon found his opportunity. The pounding of running water from the shower filled his ears, and not much longer afterward did the music of Erik's voice fill the entire flat.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime…"

Tiptoeing, Nadir made his way to Erik's room, and tested the unlocked handle.

"Leave me, save me from my solitude…"

Nadir turned the doorknob carefully, setting foot inside the room, and flipped on the light.

"Say you'll want me with you here beside you…"

From the bed to the nightstand, things appeared to be in place.

"Anywhere…" Erik's melodious voice rang out from the bathroom, "you go, let me go too…"

Scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary, Nadir soon found the familiar music box from the lair. His ears began to feel very warm, and he could feel his blood boiling at the realization that Erik had expressly disobeyed his wishes, but then the sight of another object made him want to scream.

"Colleen… that's all I ask of you."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Nadir studied the lifelike dummy tucked away in the corner of the closet. His mouth fell open at the sight of its perfect face, and he was so angry he wanted to take the hated mannequin and douse it with flames. _Erik had been to the Opera house!_ Other thoughts began to run rampant through his mind. _What had he done?__ Had he spoken to anyone? For the sake of Allah, who might have seen him?!_ Nadir advanced on the loathsome object as it stood there, leaning gingerly against the wooden door. It had a small smile settled on its lips that seemed to mock him. A big vein on his forehead protruded as treacherous feelings washed through him like violent waves. Whispering curses in his native tongue, he grasped the dummy in his hands, shoving away the folds of the wedding dress in an attempt to avoid tripping over it. He had not quite made it out the door when he found Erik standing before him wearing a robe and an amused smirk.

"Daroga, put her down," he commanded simply, no trace of surprise in his voice.

Furious, Nadir set the doll down directly in front of him, holding tightly to its wooden arms. "How could you? You promised not to go back there! And then to spite me you bring back this…" He shook it angrily. "…this thing!"

Calmly, Erik wrestled the life-sized doll from Nadir's grasp, and proceeded back into the room.

"You could have been seen, Erik! Don't you know what you have done?!"

"No one saw me." Erik fingered the long curly tresses admiringly. _It was worth it._

"No one saw you?!" he countered incredulously. "People on the street didn't see you lugging that thing out of the Opera house, or the taxi driver, Erik, _he_ didn't see you??"

Erik turned on Nadir, ice tinged his deep blue eyes. "Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out, Nadir?" He advanced on his friend, his tone cold, gesturing towards the doll. "This figure, this work of art was not just something I conjured from my imagination."

Nadir's eyes widened.

"No, she is a recreation, but of course, you already knew that, didn't you? I suspect that you know all about my wooden beauty."

Nadir faltered. "I…I don't…" In truth, he knew very little about the young chorus girl, except for that she was the object of Erik's affection.

Nodding, Erik continued, "You think you are protecting me by not giving away my past, daroga. But, what you don't realize is that I have instincts that tell me about this remarkable young woman." He walked confidently to the doll, taking her stiff hand in his own. "Though my memory is jumbled, we sang together, and I do remember her name…" He paused, looking into her lovely eyes. "Colleen," he said with reverence.

With a frown, Nadir repeated it doubtfully, "Colleen?"

His eyebrows knit into a furrow. "Well, it begins with a "C" anyway."

"We are not finished discussing this…"

"Now, if you'll leave us." Shoving him out of the room, Erik shut the door in Nadir's face. "I ought to Punjab you for entering my room uninvited, old man," he muttered, slightly alarmed by the words that had flowed from his mouth so casually.

Nadir could feel the blood rush to his face and gritted his teeth as he hissed through Erik's door. "You ungrateful…"

His face became even redder as he heard Erik's voice mocking his on the other side in a perfect imitation. "You ungrateful!"

Nadir's hands balled into fists. "Of all the immature…" he stopped himself. "I should have left you there," he shouted bitterly, pounding on the door, tempted to kick it down. "I should have left you there bleeding, should have let the police find you!"

"Should have let the police find you!" Erik mimicked, imitating Nadir's voice again, and then his tone changed alarmingly quick, and a rich, heavy laugh escaped him. "Yes," he chuckled, "maybe you should have," he said in his normal voice, and then paused, his tone softening, "What's that, my angel?" There was another pause. "Yes, dear, I agree. I wish for the awful man to leave us alone as well."

Nadir could feel steam coming from his ears. "Of all the childish things you have said or done…"

"I know, Colleen, my love, he's positively dreadful for holding us captive here…"

Shaking his head, Nadir counted to five to calm himself, as he felt his heart was pounding from anger, and his face was red with madness, every muscle in his body tight. "If you will not abide by my rules, Erik, you will no longer continue to live under my protection." It was silent again. "Did you hear me, Erik? If you return to the Opera house, you are not my responsibility. You cannot come back!"

It was quiet again for another long moment before he heard Erik's voice.

"Thank goodness, he's gone, my sweet. And now, we sing!" The beauty of Erik's voice rang out once again, "Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime…"

* * *

Meg modeled the elegant white gown, adjusting the marabou-trimmed bodice while Christine watched with forced enthusiasm. "So what do you think?" 

"It looks perfect on you, Meg." Christine could not help but wonder if the large swell of Meg's ample bosom would leave the blond exposed. Nevertheless, she was stunning.

"So is yours done yet?"

Christine, sitting on Meg's bed, resumed staring off into space.

"Christine?"

The young woman looked at her friend. "Huh?"

The blond ballerina sat beside the dejected brunette, careful not to step on the dress's ruffles. "I asked if your costume was finished?"

"I can pick it up tomorrow," she replied dully.

Meg squealed. "Isn't this exciting? I can't wait. Three more days!"

"Three more days…" Christine repeated as her friend stood up and admired her costume in the full-length mirror. "Meg, I don't want to go."

The blond turned to her, "You know we are required to, and besides, it will be fun! And your fiancée will be there as your date!"

Christine sighed, wanting to tuck herself under her warm covers and stay there forever. "Fun." With a feigned smile, she looked up at her friend. "It will be fun."

* * *


	8. Bal Masque

A/N: It seems as though what started out as a lighthearted comedy has become more of a dramedy. Hang in there with me, please, and as always, please review!

Chapter 8- Bal Masque

His eyes gazed into the guest room, its furnishings bare and vacant, as empty and lifeless as it had been prior to when Erik had occupied it. Nadir's heart felt heavy as he stepped inside, observing the empty hangers in the closet, the wooden dresser top bare and smooth. The bed was neatly made, its covers tucked in tightly, and on top of the pillow Nadir found an envelope. His dark hands were quick to retrieve it, and fingers even quicker to remove the letter inside. He held his breath as he read the elegantly scripted words:

_Dear Nadir,_

_I would like to convey my thanks to you for your help, as I do realize that your intentions were and always have been honorable. I apologize for my behavior, when you sought only to give me the opportunity for a better life. I wish I could accept this great gift with both hands, and be content without a memory of who I was, and aspire to be a better man as you had hoped and planned. I would like to express my humble appreciation for the trouble and inconvenience that my presence has effected. All is not lost, daroga. Please know this: For as long as I live, I will strive to lead an honorable life, and apply the wisdom that I have learned from my time with you. I wish you success with your life, Nadir, and will always remember you as my friend._

_No hard feelings._

_Your friend,_

_Erik_

* * *

It had been difficult for Erik to resist the rich, scarlet velvet costume with its matching black boots. His eyes found a horrific skeletal mask, and it had called to his very being. It was positively morbid, and intimidating, and oh so perfect. The outfit had reminded him of red death. Yes, it had been difficult, but in the end, heeding the words of his friend to be discreet, the former phantom chose a far less conspicuous suit of black. With its modest fringed accents, and shiny gold buttons, it was hardly his first choice. But as he tied the gold-lined black bow neatly, he could not help admiring his reflection in the mirror. Having gained some weight from his stay with Nadir, he filled the suit out nicely, and his skin had a healthy glow. Best of all, the thin black eye mask he chose, he wore solely for recreation rather than necessity. With a smile, he smoothed down the hair of his wig, and tied it properly into a tail. Erik had spared no expense for this disguise, and had considered every detail. Though the idea of sticking colored contact lenses into his eyes was unappealing at best, Erik had struggled several times inserting the loathsome small plastic discs, but finally found the result well worth the effort. And the final touch - the mustache - he applied the adhesive just above his upper lip, and pressed the thin strip against his skin. 

Erik had been looking forward to this night for a long time, even longer than he had known.

* * *

As Meg fussed with the ties on the back of Christine's gown, Raoul looked disapprovingly at his fiancée's gloved hand. 

"Christine, why aren't you wearing your ring?"

The brunette looked up into the hurt brown eyes of the man she had promised to marry, who was handsomely clad in a black Russian soldier costume, and ran her fingers along its bright golden braids.

"The ring," she began thoughtfully, her eyes looking to the ceiling, "was not….large enough to wear over the gloves," she improvised.

Raoul opened his mouth to speak, but Christine was quick to cut him off.

"Don't you see, Raoul?" she smiled charmingly, pulling the gold chain from her chest, and fingering the ring on the end of it. "It's right here."

He shook his head, and his perfectly combed golden hair didn't move an inch. "Christine, we are engaged, and you haven't told anyone…"

Meg's feathered headpiece appeared from behind Christine, and her blue eyes looked brightly at Raoul. "She told _me_."

"See?"

"But…" Raoul countered, but as he stood before the two beauties who had taken an intimidating sisterly stance, he felt as though his argument would be best saved for another time.

"Right, well…"

"Meg, didn't you say earlier that Monsieur Firmin was looking for Raoul?" Christine asked her friend with wide eyes, silently begging her to play along.

Catching her signal, Meg smiled and turned to the dashing vicomte. "Uh, yes, uh, Firmin, he was looking for you."

"But…"

Christine grabbed his shoulder and turned him toward the grand hall. "He's waiting for you. Better hurry!"

Raoul's feet carried him away from his childhood love, and he looked back toward her sweet face questioningly.

Her delicate fingers held the ring up again reassuringly, and she spoke as he walked away. "It's right here," she said again. "Right next to my heart."

Somehow in Raoul's mind, just that one statement made all the difference, and he turned with a smile in search of the Opera Populaire's manager.

Meg couldn't help it and elbowed Christine with a giggle. She held up her own necklace in her hand, and spoke in a devilishly mocking voice. "Right next to my heart."

* * *

The singing voices guided him as Erik followed the music of the impressive chorus, their rich harmonies drawing him like a magnet. Stealthily, he traversed the interweaving corridors, taking in the lush interior of the Opera House, admiring every detail from floor to ceiling. Richly costumed patrons circulated the monumental building, watching with awe as the cast performed a dazzling show of song and dance, and seemingly lost in the throngs of people, he edged his way above the grand hall. 

"Sorry that our phantom fellow can't be here," Erik heard one man say to another. The two men stood side by side, gossiping like church ladies, laughing and carrying on about the blessed absence of their opera ghost. A dark brow rose above Erik's narrow black mask as he tried in vain to blend in among the crowd and eavesdrop on the two ridiculously garbed men. One wore ram's horns atop his head, and the other's hat resembled a rooster's comb.

Erik's hands moved along the railing slowly. With his head forward, he was watching the performance below, while his ears still listened to the managers' mocking voices, when he sharply collided with another man's shoulder.

"Pardon me," Erik said apologetically, realizing that he had not been paying attention to where he was going.

"Quite alright," Raoul replied distractedly, still in search of the Opera House's manager, not even noticing the face of the man before him.

"Nice costume," Erik commented politely, before slipping away.

A look of relief washed over the vicomte's face as he finally located Monsieur Firmin, and absently he turned to face the masked man. "Thank you."

The sharp insults of the voices had penetrated his skull, tearing into him like vicious claws. Unnoticed, Erik passed numerous guests, and members of the troupe, picking up their disgustingly elated comments of his disappearance, the relief that he was no longer there, the horror stories of his many hauntings. Disheartened, the former phantom searched the sea of faces below, the elegantly dressed society of Paris, hidden behind the cover of masks. To his dismay, he did not recognize a single soul, and without one ounce of recall, he stood at the top of the grand escalier and sighed. _Maybe Nadir had been right_. Ready to depart from the opulent building, with its marble floors and ornamental statues, Erik's heart sank. As he turned to leave, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the vision of an angel.

She must have been an angel, he thought, watching her radiant face as she chatted with the buxom blonde beside her. He would not have noticed her at all while she held the feathery mask to her face, but as her gloved hand lowered the mask to her side, Erik's breath caught in his throat.

It was she… Colleen… 

_maybe…_

Erik didn't feel the floor beneath his feet, or the brush from other bodies as he swayed past. All he could focus on was her shiny auburn hair that fell in glorious curls to her back, and how her skin glowed against the pale pink of her gown, and how her face reminded him of a porcelain doll. The delicate beauty danced with graceful movements, and as the music stopped, she brought her small gloved hands together and clapped, her lips forming a tantalizing smile. She and her friend then proceeded to move away from the dancing area as the music began once again, and Erik followed, determined not to allow himself to lose sight of her. He had to meet this resplendent young woman. Every breath he took brought him closer to her, and he felt his heart and his soul begin to come alive once again.

* * *

"May I have this dance?" 

Christine looked up in surprise at the tall gentleman before her. Her first instinct would have been to politely decline, and though she did not recognize the masked stranger or his voice, he seemed oddly familiar. With a slight nod, she allowed her tiny hand to fall into his large, welcoming palm.

In awe, Meg watched as the young soprano was swept away by the attractive mystery man, whom she surely did not recognize. The stranger was charming and confident, and had garnered many looks from other members of the fairer sex. Still, Meg had to wonder what was going on in the crazy, mixed up mind of her engaged friend.

Christine's mouth was absent of any words.

She looked up into the mesmerizing hazel color of the man's eyes before her. His hand held hers lightly, and she was surprised by how natural it felt to have his other hand resting gently above her waist as they moved in time with the music. At that moment, she felt frozen in time, and everything around her seemed to fade away. Her eyes devoured his features, the strong set of his jaw that was impossibly familiar, the perfect straightness of his nose, the honey color of his thin mustache. The man's thick, sandy colored hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon. He was tall and every bit of him was masculine. His identity eluded her, and she found herself completely captivated by him, by the way his eyes seemed to memorize every inch of her face, with a look of adoration that melted her insides. Christine could not pull her own gaze from the appeal of his countenance, and could not ignore the tingling sensation that his touch produced.

He was an overwhelming curiosity to her, though. His black mask, though narrow, was the true cover to his identity. For some reason, she did not feel the desire to expose him, as she had done so hastily to another once before. _Erik._ Her heart still ached for her former maestro. A tiny voice nagged at her. Could this perfect Adonis, with his similar mannerisms, height and build possibly be her tortured, scarred Erik? The very idea was preposterous. She had only to look with her eyes to see the many differences, not to mention the fact that Erik would never appear here in the light of day. The idea was just too unlikely for her mind to entertain. Indeed, it was too much to hope for, but for right now, for just this moment, the graceful movements of the dance with this tender stranger granted her heart some peace.

* * *

He had a thousand questions for the enchantress he held in his arms. But as his gaze wandered from the curls that played about her milky white shoulders to those amazing, large brown eyes reminiscent of a doe's, he was both lost within her presence, and at a loss for words. He longed to touch the silky smoothness of her skin, wondering how it would feel to kiss those perfect pink lips. He wondered if she could see the longing that must have surely been reflected in his own eyes, if she could sense the rush of emotions that surged through him like a raging river. Daringly, their bodies moved closer together, narrowing the gap between them as the melody drew to a close. Erik watched as his hand, seemingly of its own accord, move to the perfection of her rosy cheek, and with awe, observed as her own hand, tiny in comparison, rest on top of his, squeezing it with an aching gentleness. 

Disguising his voice carefully once more, he asked her softly, "May I have the pleasure of your name?"

Her lips parted to reply, but was interrupted by a rather harsh male voice.

"I believe the lady has promised the next dance to me."

"Raoul," she said, startled, looking at the man beside them.

Erik had managed to block out the thunderous applause of the other guests, and the idle chatter around them, but when he heard her sweet lips give voice to that name, he felt his blood turn cold. Although he had no recollection of who this Raoul was, or what association he might have had with him, he knew that name, and as he looked into the man's disturbed, perfect face, a stab of rage tore into him like a dagger.

Erik looked to her to gauge her reaction, but for the first time his gaze wandered to her chest, finding a gold chain, and to his heartbreak, a diamond-studded ring as its pendant.

_Your chains are still mine, you belong to me._

He had no idea where that thought had come from, or why he had the overwhelming urge to say those words and angrily rip the hated chain from the tempting creaminess of her cleavage. It was only a slight comfort that Raoul's appearance did not seem to have a pleasing effect on her, and Erik's heart stung with the realization that this exquisite being was promised to another. His mind began to question everything, and his thoughts spun wildly as he stole away, disappearing into the crowd.

* * *


	9. Aftermath

Chapter 9- Aftermath

Just like that, he was gone.

Christine's eyes desperately searched the crowded grand hall for the tall, masked stranger, who had seemingly disappeared into thin air.

"Christine, did you hear one word I said?" Raoul demanded, his face as red as a beet, as his fiancée's attention was somewhere other than on his barrage of questions.

_Who was that man? Why was he holding you like that? What was his name?_

Those were questions she couldn't answer, and as the vicomte sought to deliver guilt, Christine realized one thing. Her heart beat once again for that man of mystery. Ignoring Raoul's accusing tone, Christine turned fully away from her childhood love, her eyes still searching, her arms missing the mystery man's warmth…

_Could it be, _her heart asked stubbornly

_Erik? _

* * *

His heart pounded with fury as he shuffled among the disguised Parisians. He made his way up the grand escalier, unaware he was being followed, too distracted, too disturbed by the heart wrenching truth of Colleen's engagement. Down the corridor, and to the right, he automatically gave a slight push to a statue, revealing a secret passageway, but before he could enter, a tight female voice stopped him. 

"Monsieur, you must come with me."

She was silent as she led him to a room he was not familiar with. Judging by the looks of the furnishings, it was a bedroom, with a small sitting area.

His mind was bursting with questions as he pondered the identity of this woman, who walked with ladylike grace, and immaculate posture. She sat herself properly on a settee and gestured for Erik to be seated in a smaller chair across from her. But before he could begin to question, she silenced him with a single authoritative wave of her hand.

"Please," she paused, choosing her words carefully. "The reason I brought you here, Erik…"

His eyes widened and Erik interrupted, leaping from the chair, "You know who I am?"

With pursed lips, she continued, her French accent heavy as she spoke, "Of course I do. I brought you in here to tell you that you are not welcome here."

"Who are you?" Erik demanded loudly. "How do you know who I am?"

"That is not important, Monsieur," she continued coolly, "What is important is that you leave the Opera house and never return."

"You know Nadir, don't you? Nadir put you up to this…"

She closed her eyes and shook her head in a gesture that showed that she had heard quite enough. "Please hear me," she told him, raising her voice. "If you do not leave, the police will remove you. Are we understood?"

Quietly, he looked at the woman, who in her late forties, was quite attractive. Desperately, he searched his memory for clues…any clues, when suddenly a name came to him.

"Antoinette," he said experimentally, letting the name roll off his tongue.

With narrowed eyes, she studied the former opera ghost. "Monsieur's memory of me has returned, yes?"

"No."

Erik thought for a split second that if her eyes could literally throw daggers, then he would be laying dead across the floor. "Nadir told me about you, Antoinette Giry."

Antoinette stood up sharply, and pulled Erik's earlobe, moving him roughly towards the door, as though he were a common four-year-old. "You…must…leave…now!"

Struggling against her, he grabbed at her wrist, wincing at the sheer force and intimidation of the woman, over whom he towered by nearly twelve inches. With eyebrows furrowed, he pulled her fingers from his earlobe. "You are supposed to be my friend," he growled, rubbing at his now swollen ear tissue. "Nadir said that you were the one person here that I could trust."

She shook her head in denial. "Trust no one, Monsieur, and believe me, that if you choose to remain here, I will lead the police to you myself."

"Antoinette, please?" Erik said, his hazel eyes pleading.

The stern ballet manager sharply opened the door, and using her other hand, gestured for him to leave.

A long sigh escaped him, as he considered the woman's unwavering look. "I must collect my things, Antoinette, and will be gone by tomorrow afternoon."

She didn't meet his eyes and gave him a slight nod. "Tomorrow afternoon," she agreed. "No later. And you will not speak to anyone here."

His shoulders slumped involuntarily as he moved through the doorway, and he thought that perhaps if he showed her his most vulnerable puppy eyes, that she may reconsider, but as he turned to face her, the door slammed right in his face.

A tear fell down the cheek of Madame Giry's face. It had been the hardest thing she had ever done to turn him away like this. "Good luck, Erik," she whispered, her fingers brushing against the door.

"He'll be fine," Nadir assured her with his thick Middle Eastern accent, placing a soft kiss on the nape of her neck.

* * *

It was just his luck. 

He thought that he had reached the lowest point of his life, at least that he could recall. The night had proved to be nothing but a disappointment. His ears still rang with the spiteful tones of the crowd's mocking whispers. Madame Giry, the woman that he thought was his friend, had ordered him to leave, and worst of all, his Colleen…engaged. There was still time to pack, but for right now, Erik felt like he needed something to soothe the harsh feelings that swam through his mind. Stripping off his costume and disguise, he threw on casual clothing and left the lair.

Smoke filled the air heavily as he entered the bar, but he didn't care. All he could think about was how quickly he could order a stiff drink, how welcoming the burn of the liquid would be as it glided down his throat, and how blissfully numb his mind would become of the evening's heartbreak.

As Erik took a seat at the bar, he quickly caught sight of the familiar costume; black suit with several bright golden braids…the Russian soldier…there had only been one…Raoul.

To his utter distaste, the very man that he loathed was sitting there at the bar, one hand on his glass, the other arm buried beneath his face, and moaning like a loud, pathetic oaf. Why, Erik couldn't help imagining the pleasure he would derive from taking a dull knife and slitting the pretty man's throat. It was a gruesome thought, and quickly he pushed it aside as the bartender took his order. It would probably be best, if he just sat somewhere else, or went to another bar, but just before he could give that anymore thought, his drink was poured before him.

Maybe just one drink… 

As Erik willed the alcohol to take an immediate effect, he noticed that the one soul that he had come to despise in one evening was now staring up at him through glassy eyes, with one side of his face still resting on the counter.

"Do I know you?" Raoul asked.

"No." Erik shook his head. Wearing jeans and a sweater, he looked nothing like his persona from the Bal Masque.

"Oh," he simply replied, looking back to his half-full glass.

Erik forced the rest of the contents of his glass down his throat, and was reaching into his pocket for his wallet, when the man that he abhorred with his heart and soul spoke again.

"Have you ever been in love?"

* * *

Meg gasped in horror, looking down at her friend sitting on the bed. "You didn't!" 

"I did," she replied shamefully, her face hidden behind her hands.

"I can't believe you said that!"

The brunette shook her head regretfully. "I know."

The blonde's arms flailed about as she paced the floor of Christine's room. "You should have just told him the truth."

"I couldn't."

"You could have told him something else, anything else!"

"I couldn't think!"

* * *

Erik looked at his rival, for the first time, actually seeing the pain reflected in his eyes. "Yes," he replied. _I suppose._

"Do you know that feeling, that joy, that sense of completeness?" he went on. "That you think that there's only one woman on this earth who can fill your soul, who will love you the way no other can?" he slurred questioningly.

Speechless, Erik nodded as the man before him rambled on.

"And then she takes your love," he said, sitting up and using his hands in wide gesturing motions. "And shatters it into pieces, and it feels like you have been stabbed in the chest by a hundred swords, and then you hope and pray to God for mercy, and that the next breath you take will be your last?"

Puzzled, he stared as the blithering fool went on. "Right."

Raoul paused for a moment, and took another gulp of his scotch, downing the contents with three final gulps. "Only to find out that the woman you were going to marry is nothing but a…"

Erik looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

Snapping his fingers, Raoul held up the glass to the bartender, gesturing for another drink.

"A what?" Erik snapped impatiently.

Raoul turned to Erik, his eyes deep with sorrow. "A liar."

* * *

"You could have said that you weren't in love with him…" Meg said, still pacing. 

Christine was silent, her face still in her hands.

"Or that you are too young to get married…or…or that you want to put your career first…"

"Where were you when I needed you?" Christine muttered into her hands at Meg's suggestions.

"Those are all good reasons…"

Tears ran down Christine's cheeks as she uncovered her face. "I know. I just couldn't…I wasn't thinking."

Meg sat down beside her friend, laying Christine's head down on her shoulder, sighing. "Oh Gawd."

* * *

_3 stiff drinks later_

Blankly, Erik stared at the man next to him, who was gulping the contents of his last drink, the amber liquid flowing freely down his cheeks and chin. "She told you that she couldn't marry you because… she's a lesbian?"

Wiping his face on his sleeve, Raoul nodded. "Yup." He gestured to the bartender for another refill. "You know, there have been times when I've suspected that Christine and Meg are just a little too close…"

Erik cut him off, his eyes wide with surprise. "Did you say Christine?" _Her name was Christine…_

"Christine, that's the liar's name," he replied sourly.

He needed a moment to take all this in, her real name, that she broke off her engagement with Raoul, that she was a lesbian… "Wait, how do you know she's lying?" he asked suspiciously.

"Two words," Raoul replied, holding up three fingers. "Angel of Music."

"That's three words," Erik corrected, with one eyebrow raised.

"Oh, don't be fooled, my friend, like the rest of us. He's referred to as other names as well…such as…" Raoul raised two fingers from each hand to simulate quotation marks. "The Phantom of the Opera."

_Ah ha!_ Erik thought, _finally getting somewhere._ Now, if he could just keep this belligerent fellow talking, Erik might get some answers. "Interesting…"

"He also has another name that he calls himself," Raoul told him, making his fingers again in quotation marks. "The Opera Ghost."

Erik leaned in, and gestured for the bartender to refill his own glass. "Tell me about this…opera ghost."

* * *

"I have to go see him." Christine appeared as though she'd had an epiphany. "Erik," she said, her eyes turning towards the mirror. "I think he was there tonight." Christine stood up determinedly. 

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," Meg said, hopping up before her friend. "What's this all about?"

"He was here tonight."

Meg looked at her friend like she was crazy. "Where?"

"Remember? The man I danced with!"

Shaking her head, she was quick to disagree. "He didn't look anything like him."

"He was in disguise," Christine told her in a low voice, as though it were a secret. "It was Erik, Meg."

"He's gone, Christine. He's been gone for months."

"Then how do you explain the disappearance of the music box from my room?"

Meg's bright blue eyes looked up thoughtfully. "Okay, but I'm coming with you."

* * *

_Two more drinks later…_

The other patrons were beginning to stare at the costumed fool slumped at the bar, singing like a maudlin imbecile.

"And he'll always be there, singing songs in my head…" Raoul sang drunkenly, and much too loud.

Shushing him, Erik was feeling very uncomfortable, feeling the piercing stares of the other bar patrons digging at his back.

"And I…am a…vicomte!" he declared loudly, his eyes alight with fire. "Did I mention that she dumped me- a vicomte, for a disfigured menace!"

"I believe that you already mentioned that," Erik replied icily. _Three times._ By this point, Erik was picturing himself dropping Raoul's intoxicated body in the glassy lake underneath the opera house where no one would ever find him.

"Do you know what I would do," he paused to take another drink, and gestured the bartender over for another refill. "Do you know what I would do if that opera ghost…was here?"

Amused, Erik shook his head. Clearly the man had had way too much to drink. "No, what?"

"I…" he began, his eyes glassy, "would…kick his…" he stopped, his body involuntarily jerking in a forward motion, and proceeded to vomit on himself, Erik's denims, and the floor.

* * *

With a long sigh, both young women entered through the mirror back into Christine's room, Meg shining the flashlight toward the on switch. 

"Are you happy now?"

Christine sighed again. "No." She flipped the light back on and let her body fall onto her bed. "You're right, Meg. It was a stupid idea. He's gone." She sat up in the bed suddenly. "But that still doesn't explain what happened to the music box."

Meg set her flashlight down on Christine's dresser and plopped beside her friend. "Well, we didn't see it down in the lair. Maybe Mama has it, but if she did take it, she wouldn't admit it."

"And if I ask her, then I'll be in trouble for going down there."

A sudden yawn came from Meg's mouth, and she rose from the bed, recalling all the events of the night. "Somehow, Christine, I think the music box is the least of your problems."

* * *

It was after two in the morning when Erik stumbled back to his lair, his mind reeling with all the new information, repulsed by the smell of Raoul's outburst on him, and dizzy with the realization that he had no idea what to do next. He had less than ten hours to leave this place, and while he was torn about leaving, Erik wondered if there was any real reason to stay. Was his beloved Christine a lesbian or had she said that solely to protect him? Had she shared the same feelings as Erik? If so, why had she become engaged to the vicomte to begin with? Too many questions! Erik shrugged off the soiled pants from his body, fell into his bed, and before he could think one more thought, his eyelids drifted closed and he fell asleep.

* * *

A/N: I just don't know what I was thinking when I wrote this one! As always, I love to hear from you! 


	10. The Lies We Tell

Chapter 10- The Lies We Tell

"It's okay, Erik," Nadir teased, standing in his doorway. "They are only words. I want to hear you say them."

Erik stood before him, clutching his Christine doll in his arms, his bags resting at his feet. "I've made better decisions."

"Oh, come now," he told him, blocking the entrance. "Three words. You can do better than that."

With a sigh, Erik met Nadir's blackish brown eyes. "You were right."

Nadir let out a loud chuckle. "Oh, I do enjoy hearing you say that," he laughed. "But, not quite the three words I was looking for."

Hating this, Erik gave his friend his most apologetic look. "I am sorry," he told him in his most humble tone.

Shaking his head, the Iranian laughed again. "I know that was hard for you, Erik, but again, not those three words."

Closing his eyes shut tight, Erik frowned. He knew exactly what Nadir had wanted him to say, and with every fiber of his being, he dreaded saying it. _It was the only way._ "I was…"

Nadir prompted as Erik paused, "Uh huh?"

"Slightly incorrect."

"You are almost there, my friend," Nadir encouraged.

Erik stood there for a moment, feeling all the blood rushing to his face, wanting to slap the smug expression on the older man's face. "I…" he began through clenched teeth, "was…wrong!"

His heart was pounding, and Erik sat up in his bed, still racked with bitterness. After rubbing his eyes, he took in the lair's surroundings, grateful with his heart and soul that the humiliating admission had only been a dream. Though he knew he could not stay, he'd already promised Giry, he had to work out where he would go next. One thing he was sure of was that he could not show up on Nadir's doorstep.

But, before he could go, there was one thing that stung at his brain, and no matter what Antoinette said, Erik could not leave this place without finding out.

* * *

Their quarreling voices could be heard clear from the hallway and Meg's feet rushed to Christine's room as quickly as they would carry her. 

"Raoul, please!"

"No, Christine, I'm not leaving here until you tell me the truth!"

Meg peeked in the half open door to observe Raoul, with his back to her, trying to back Christine into a corner. The brunette's arms were outstretched, pushing the vicomte away.

"I don't have anymore to say! Now, please go!"

He had grabbed her wrists when Meg burst in. "Raoul, I think you should leave now."

Christine's eyes shot to her friend's with relief, and she struggled free from her former fiancée's grasp.

Rubbing at his temples, he turned to face the young blond dancer. She could see the dark circles under his tired eyes. "This is none of your business, Meg."

With a fierce look in her light blue eyes, Meg marched right over to her wide-eyed friend, and stood beside her, linking her arm through Christine's . "Do I need to call security?"

Red-faced, Raoul ignored Meg's question and looked toward Christine. "I just want the truth."

Meg braced Christine's shoulders firmly, and her eyes pleaded with the soprano. "Please," she whispered. "Just tell him."

For a long moment, Christine looked from her best friend to her childhood love. She knew Meg was right, and with a look of defeat, opened her mouth to speak, but the words would not come.

Raoul stood there expectantly, his arms folded across his chest, tapping his feet. "Well?"

Something snapped in the young chorus girl's mind, a glint of defiance shone in her eyes, as she turned her gaze back to the impatient vicomte. "I already told you the truth," she said sharply, as she turned to face the shocked expression on the blond ballerina's face, placed her small hands on her friend's cheeks, then proceeded to kiss her square on the mouth.

* * *

_On the other side of the mirror_

The former phantom of the opera had watched the scene unfold, ready to jump in as Meg had burst through the door, but now, he stood there, dejected, as the woman he was sure he loved locked lips with her very attractive friend. Open-mouthed, he watched Raoul storm out of Christine's room, his own heart sinking.

He knew for sure now there was nothing left for him here, making his way back to his lair to gather the last of his belongings.

Erik took the final steps through his home, the heels of his shoes making clicking sounds that echoed as he walked. He was leaving it all behind him, careful to take only the items he thought he was sure to need. Regretfully, there were many things he could not bring; the grand piano called to him even at that moment, beckoning him for one last session. Resisting the urge to play, he roamed the cavern, wishing for the hundredth time that he could recall his memories of this place, of his life. Sadly, Nadir had been right about the others' perceptions, and as he ran fingers along the velvet draperies that hung from a long mirror, he rediscovered the tunnel behind it, and on the ground a large metal lockbox.

His heart began to pound in his chest as he uncovered a trove of many disturbing objects. Among them were weapons, knives of various sizes, an antique sword that's silver still shined so well he could see his reflection, handguns, and a Punjab lasso, to name a few. What Erik found most disturbing was the bulk of TNT tucked neatly in the locker's corner. It was at that very moment that the former opera ghost considered the unthinkable. It was true he did not remember who he was, or the things that he had done, but one thing he did know was that he did not want the threat of that dangerous person to exist anymore. This cavern, this dark, depressing home represented the insanity that dwelled within the soul of a madman, and now as Erik removed the explosives, he knew what he had to do.

It was an afterthought. Erik had been seized by several afterthoughts now that he had the TNT strategically placed. It seemed just as he was about to commit the final act of activating the detonator, another aspiration would take hold of his mind; he had no idea why, but was struck by an odd inclination to obtain a crimson rose, and tie a black ribbon around its stem. Returning the music box to Christine's room had been another of his irrational aspirations. Those duties had been tended to and the notes to Antoinette and Nadir had been written. Over and over, he had gone through a mental checklist, and at this point everything seemed to be in order, but there was one last item he had deliberated for the past few hours.

_Don Juan Triumphant._

It was his opera; haunting, seductive, unfinished. It was the story of an innocent falling prey to the wiles of a masked man. The probable resemblances to his own life, his mask, and to the heroine, Aminta, who he had to assume had been inspired by Christine, were distressing enough. The lyrics were raw and powerful, the melodies sought to possess the listener with their alluring intensity. Each note of the music had pierced his soul, tempting him into a state of dementia.

That was why he nearly left it. Clearly, it was the work of a madman.

Erik ran his fingers through the stiff pages, his heart aching at the thought of abandoning the piece. It was at that moment that he decided. He gathered the thick bundle of pages and fitted them into his suitcase. Perhaps it was a mistake…or perhaps this piece, this work of art could be salvaged, transformed like he was from an ugly duckling into a beautiful swan. _Anything was possible._

Anything is possible.

The former phantom of the opera had to tell himself this as he inhaled the musty scent of the cavern for the last time. As he closed the lock box containing the various weapons, he said it under his breath. _Anything is possible._

As he armed the detonator several feet from his former home, his arms filled with his belongings, making his way down the long tunnel, Erik told himself again, "Anything is possible."

* * *

A/N: Please hang in there with me. Thanks so much for your feedback and as always I look forward to your reviews! 


	11. The Opera Ghost is Dead

A/N: Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics used in this chapter, or Erik, or any of the other wonderful characters.

Also, please hang in there with me as spring break approaches, leaving the next three weeks for family, and not much time for writing! As soon as I can catch up to where I'd like to be, I will post again... Thanks as always for your feedback, and of course, review!

Chapter 11- The Opera Ghost is Dead

Antoinette Giry shook her head in frustration as she walked the length of the room, weaving in and out of the ballerina's line as they rehearsed. _Christine. _The girl was definitely…off. She had performed this routine countless times, yet now, her dancing left much to be desired. Her pirouette had nearly landed her on the shiny wooden floor. An air of distraction floated above the young beauty, and Madame Giry could not be sure of the exact cause. _Erik_…to be sure the man had stirred up the bliss that had presided over the opera house the past several weeks, but at least she had taken care of that. But, then, there was the other thing…the vicious rumor of Christine's sexual orientation, of an intimate kiss having taken place between the soprano and Madame's own Meg.

It was madness. It was utterly absurd, and yet now as the ballet instructor's eagle eyes watched her daughter, she observed how Meg had also missed a step as the rest of the group, with the exception of Christine, performed flawlessly. Her daughter was awkwardly trying to correct, nearly bumping into the dancer beside her. In her whole life, she had never witnessed her own daughter being so clumsy. Madame's lips pursed together, and she clapped her hands firmly together to call the troupe's attention when a loud boom thundered throughout the opera house, causing the floor to shake and rumble beneath their feet. Shrieks filled the room in a large, horrendous echo, and her usual graceful dancers scurried about like crazed maniacs. As the young ladies screamed their fears of earthquakes and such, Madame Giry stood perfectly still and composed, attempting to calm them. The shaking had since ceased, and she could feel it in the pit of her stomach.

This was no earthquake.

* * *

The envelope was left in the crack of his door, waiting for him as he arrived home from work. It was blank on the front, but as Nadir entered his flat, he was certain he knew who precisely had left it there for him, separating the tell tale waxed seal from the seam. Mixed feelings gripped him as he tore open the letter, and unfolded it, his eyes taking in every word of the suicide note. In disbelief he read every troubled word, every expression of worthlessness, and regret gripped Nadir with the force of a noose, suffocating the life out of him.

It couldn't be true, his heart screamed. The Erik that he knew would not just give up and take his own life. But then, doubting feelings poked at him like pesky mosquitoes. Erik was not the same man he had known for years. _Things were different now_. No, it could not be true, and Nadir turned right back around, and exited his flat. There was only one way to know for sure. He had to see with his own eyes.

Destination…the Opera Populaire.

* * *

Erik would have hated this; of this she was certain. Privacy was something that the man had always craved, and now to see the mob of police, as well as lookie-loos venturing through the dark waters of the lake, exploring every tunnel that was not caved in, shuffling among the rock shelf and along the cavern that had been his home, he would have objected vehemently to this violation. But then again, clearly this was a choice he had made. The lair, or what was left of it, was in complete ruins, bits and pieces of Erik's belongings floated in the water. His dwelling had been sectioned off with tape, as the investigators had deemed it unsafe to enter.

No human could have possibly survived.

They had questioned Antoinette endlessly, as well as Meg and Christine, the managers, Firmin and Andre; anyone who they figured might have had any sort of connection with the former phantom. Ruthlessly they seized Erik's suicide letter from Antoinette, and now she could only watch helplessly as the officials went on about their business. She wanted to scream at the injustice of what had been Erik's life, she wanted to mourn his absence, she wanted for him to finally be left in peace.

She had not even heard Nadir as he came up behind her, lost in thought, as the gendarmes walked the busy waters, trying to clear everyone out.

The olive-skinned man set a gentle hand upon her shoulder, and let out a loud sigh.

Her head snapped up toward him and she pulled herself away from his grasp bitterly. "This is your fault," she said quietly. "If not for you, he would still be here, if I hadn't told him he had to…"

"Shhh," Nadir soothed, draping an arm around her shoulder. "We did what we thought was best for him."

Antoinette shook her head. "He was fine here, and he would've been alright, just the way he's been for years," she said, her lip trembling. Angrily she turned on him. "This is your fault and now he's dead," she hissed, her eyes narrowed. She walked away from him and ascended the long flight of steps.

"Antoinette, please." Nadir swallowed hard, following behind her. He felt every bit of the truth of her words, but still could not help but wonder if this was all for real. She had put distance between them, hurrying up the steps, and while he could not handle her being angry with him, there was some investigating of his own that he wanted to do.

* * *

It was the performance of her life.

Tears fell from her eyes as the beauty of her voice wafted across the room, her tone gentle, her voice like an angel. It was all she could do to keep from sobbing.

"Think of me,  
Think of me fondly,  
When we've said goodbye.  
Remember me once in a while  
Please promise me you'll try."

It was a private ceremony held in Madame Giry's quarters. Unbeknownst to the managers, the police, or the rest of Paris, four individuals mourned the passing of the man known for his manipulations and blackmail, for his menacing correspondences, for his ghastly appearance.

Christine had chosen this song, out of all of the songs, the most appropriate for the occasion. To her, it represented many things; her transformation from chorus girl to ingénue, her awakening as a woman, the love for him that became apparent to Christine that very night she performed it upon that stage. She even considered this "their" song. The bittersweet melody resounded through the room, beckoning him, calling out to his spirit, and when Christine sang, she sang solely for her teacher. It was as though she was alone, standing there in her surrogate mother's sitting area, dressed in black, vaguely aware of the others' pain. Christine could not think of anyone else at that time, and as she lifted her wilted rose from atop his music box, the tears fell heavily, insistent like a winter storm.

"Think of all the things  
We've shared and seen -  
Don't think about the things  
Which might have been"

Nadir and Antoinette sat side by side on the settee, lost in thought…so many memories.

It was because of Erik that they had come to know one another…

_He had disliked her at once. She knew something. The prim, proper woman had sought to curtail his efforts to find his masked friend, and he was reasonably sure that his trail had ended here at the Opera Populaire._

"_I can assure you, Monsieur, that there is no such person here at this opera house, perhaps try another city," she told him, her French accent thick and heavy as she spoke._

_He was quickly losing patience with this woman, who had been successful in verbally battling him, but he wasn't ready to give up yet. "I will find him, Madame, I can guarantee it. No matter how long it takes."_

_Antoinette showed him the door. "Good luck, Monsieur. I hope that you find your friend, this Erik, was it?"_

_With a nod, he narrowed his eyes at her. "Yes." Sighing, he placed his hat on his head and left, frustrated. The managers would not speak with him, and he certainly did not want to involve the police._

_The third meeting:_

"_Bonjour, Madame," he greeted, holding his hat in his hands, and taking the seat behind the desk in the office._

_She resisted the unladylike urge to roll her eyes. "Bonjour, Monsieur Khan."_

"_Where is he?"_

"_I've already told you. I do not know the location of your friend," she answered evenly, her arms folded across her chest._

_He considered the stern woman for a moment. "Something tells me you are not being entirely truthful," he replied in a challenging tone. He caught a glimpse of something in her eye. It was as though her frosty exterior was slowly melting away, and she almost appeared…amused._

"_I'm sorry I cannot help you."_

_With a sigh, he stood up from the chair, and put his hat upon his head, bowing politely. "Yes, I am sorry about this as well. Perhaps," he said with a pleasant smile, "tomorrow you will change your mind?"_

_Antoinette inwardly laughed at the nerve of this bothersome man. "Not very likely, Monsieur."_

"_Well then, as always, thank you for your time."_

_She held the door open for him to exit, nodding. "Of course."_

"_See you tomorrow."_

_Annoyed, the ballet manager slammed the door shut behind him, shaking her head and wondering if there was a way to discourage future visits. He'd already promised more visits and questioning. Nadir Khan was onto them and she was painfully aware of that fact. She also knew that by refusing his queries that it could draw unwanted attention and negative publicity to the opera house. The owner had instructed her to handle Nadir's intrusions, and in order to protect Erik, she was determined to do just that._

"_Bonjour, Madame."_

"_Bonjour, Monsieur," she replied politely, wondering how long it would take today to get him out of the office._

_He took the seat behind the desk as always, this time considering a different approach._

"_I like that color on you, Madame Giry."_

_This was unexpected, and as Antoinette's eyes were drawn to the peach color of her blouse, she felt her cheeks begin to redden. "Thank you." She cleared her throat. "So, how long do you intend to do this?"_

_Nadir sat up in his chair. "What is it that you think my intentions are?"_

"_You come here everyday and ask me the same questions, and everyday I give you the same answers. What is the point?" She started to feel a little self-conscious at the way he seemed to be staring at her._

"_The point is, Madame, that I am trying to find my friend."_

"_And I will tell you, just as I have everyday for the past two weeks that you will not find him here, now if you please..." She moved to the door in a huff, and flipped open the door. __"I have rehearsal."_

_His gaze fell to the floor, and he set his hat back on his head. "Very well." Nadir stood and headed for the door. "Thank you for your time."_

_She was silent as her hand held tightly to the doorknob, puzzled as he stopped suddenly before her. His gaze had fallen to her hair. "What are you looking at?" she asked, a little too defensively. It had been a long time since a man had paid this kind of attention to her._

_An embarrassed grin spread about his face, lighting up his olive-skinned features, and for a moment she actually thought him attractive._

"_I was just wondering how your hair would look…down."_

_Her eyes opened wide, and blushing, she turned her face away. "I'm sure that is none of your business, Monsieur Khan," she told him in a very formal tone, trying her best to sound insulted._

_He stood before her, his eyes searching hers curiously. "Perhaps not." Walking past her through the door, he simply said, "Good day."_

_Calmly, she shut the door behind him, and a smile curved at her lips._

_The next day…_

_Nadir entered, as he always did, removing his hat, greeting her with a smile, and on this day, he was particularly impressed that her long, light brown hair hung attractively in a single long braid over her left side._

_Four weeks later…_

_The air was electrically charged as he entered, the sexual tension so thick that it could be cut with a knife. She had been heavily anticipating his visit, even now running her fingers flirtatiously through the strands of her hair. He had looked forward to it as well, despite the fact that if she had not given up Erik's secret by that time, then perhaps she never would, and at that moment, Nadir was perfectly content to be in the company of such a passionate beauty. And though it was routine, and Nadir spoke all the same words and asked all the same questions, they were spoken in a very different way. Every word the other uttered was with an air of innuendo, every syllable was like foreplay. And as they faced one another, their eyes met with longing, neither daring to close the gap between them._

"_Is today the day, Madame?" he asked, his brow rose in question._

"_What day is that, Monsieur?" she asked coyly, curling her fingers around a lock of hair._

"_Is today the day you will finally reveal…my friend?" he asked daringly, exhilarated by this exchange._

_A deep laugh began in her throat, and escaped her lips. "I am sure I know nothing of your…friend."_

"_OH, GET A ROOM, you two!" the voice boomed from the air vent._

_Antoinette's eyes opened wide in shock. For one thing, she and Nadir had been caught in an obvious flirtation, and the other- Erik had just revealed himself._

* * *

"Think of me,  
Think of me waking, silent and resigned.  
Imagine me, trying too hard  
To put you from my mind."

Meg dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Her heart ached at the loss. _Life is so unfair_. If there was something that Meg understood about Erik was that the man was sorely misunderstood, and now as the words of the song rang out sad and truthful, the graceful blond was struck with memories of her own.

_The eight year old stood watching the masked man as he drilled a hole in the cavern wall. In her tiny hands she held a glass of lemonade._

_He certainly had not expected a blond child to be standing there watching him, and with furrowed eyebrows he barked at her. "What are you doing here!"_

_Her blue eyes became a little teary, but Meg stood her ground. "Mama sent me here…to give you this," she answered in a small voice, holding up the glass._

_A smile cracked at his lips as he took in the angelic face of the little girl before him, and though he was famous for being a cruel devil, he began to laugh, his loud, rich laughter echoing throughout the walls of the catacombs__. "You must be Madame's girl."_

"_Meg," she said softly, offering a curtsy, one hand on her dress, the other still holding the glass._

"_Tell me, Meg," he said, amused. "Are you not frightened of me? Of what lays beneath the mask?"_

_Meg's bright blue eyes fell toward the cold, stone floor, feeling as though she had been caught staring. "Nnn…no, Monsieur," she said, shaking._

_Setting down his __tools__, Erik approached the young girl, towering over her. "And why is that?"_

"_Be…because Mama says you are a good man…tha…that you have good inside of you."_

_One dark eyebrow rose. "Is that so?"_

_She did not meet his gaze, but only nodded her head, offering him the drink in her hands._

_Gratefully, Erik accepted the glass, and took several gulps. "Thank you, Meg. Well, off with you now."_

_Her eyes met his, and she curtsied politely once again. "Yes, Monsieur."_

_With a smirk, Erik nodded and watched as she turned and headed back the way she came, but then called out to her. "Meg?" He waited until she had turned to face him once again. "__I know your mother did not send you_."

* * *

Christine, of course, had her own memories. At this point, she could have reflected on how cruel life had been to her, to have lost her mother during her birth, to have lost her dear, doting father at the age of seven, and now to have lost the one person in the world who had meant the most to her. She would not dwell on that now. All she could think of was Erik, her voice his tribute.

"Recall those days,  
Look back on all those times,  
Think of the things we'll never do -  
There will never be a day,  
When I won´t think of you..."

* * *


	12. Sixteen Months Later

A/N: Thanks for hanging in there with me, my dear readers. As usual I look forward to your feedback. I will post again as I get more time...

Chapter 12- **Sixteen Months Later**

Nadir could hardly believe his eyes.

It was he who stood there before him, unmistakably.

Not long after they had held the memorial for Erik, Nadir had begun to receive anonymous, blank postcards. Sometimes they arrived weekly, but at times months would pass before he would receive another. It had become obvious to Nadir that his friend was still very much alive, and it appeared that he was traveling the world, Spain one week, Italy the next, making his way through several countries throughout Europe. Erik had then apparently ventured his way to the United States, then on to South America, Australia, and back up to Asia. It had been months since the last postcard, which had flaunted a colorful scene of Tokyo, and Nadir could not help but wonder what had become of him.

His presence here now was so unexpected, so hauntingly out of the blue, that it had shaken Nadir, and he almost felt like the vision before him was an apparition.

His shoes were as black as night. Black and patent leather, they were polished and shiny, gleaming with the reflection of the porch light. The cuffs of his pants brushed against the laces, and the dark slacks looked custom-tailored, fitted to his body. Without a single wrinkle, his matching designer sport coat, immaculate and exceedingly sharp, draped his chest and torso, and the white dress shirt clung to him impeccably. A blue silk ascot completed the ensemble, presenting the image of class and uncompromising perfection. Nadir had winced at the sight, but his concern grew as his gaze met the stone cold expression of Erik's face, and even more disturbing, the dreaded white leather half mask affixed to the right side of his visage. The deep blue of his eyes bore into Nadir through the mask, and as he stood there, Erik's figure tall and larger than life, towering over him, the Iranian did not know what to think.

His mouth fell agape, shocked by the powerful, intimidating presence before him; one that he had thought he would never see again.

"Erik!" he exclaimed in shock. "What has happened to you?" He had a hundred questions buzzing through his brain like a swarm of angry bees. _What about the surgery? Why was he dressed this way? And worst of all, did his memory return?_

Erik narrowed his eyes at his long time friend, shaking his head slightly, and gave a small, disturbed sigh. "Hello, old man."

"Erik," he said again, standing in his doorway dumbly. His eyes were mesmerized by the sight of his friend's face covering. "I don't understand…the mask!" he got out, feeling like a bumbling idiot. Thoughts of Erik engaged in murder, plagued by mental illness, addicted to drugs, wreaked havoc on his brain.

Facing Nadir, Erik took one step toward him, and his right eyebrow peeked out menacingly from underneath the mask. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped, his lips forming a queer smirk. "You want to know about my mask?" he asked amusedly.

Speechless, Nadir could only nod.

"This mask," Erik said angrily, his voice gruff, "is…" His right hand covered the mask and peeled it off his face from the top, "so damn uncomfortable, I am so happy I don't have to wear it anymore!" he laughed, separating the leather from the smooth, normal flesh of the right side of his face.

His mouth still agape, Nadir could only stare as his friend continued to laugh.

The former phantom threw the mask over his shoulder carelessly, allowing the piece to hit the pavement with a small thud, and elbowed his still bewildered friend. "Gotcha!"

* * *

"Are you INSANE?" Nadir asked, leading him inside his flat.

"That, my friend, is debatable."

Somehow, Nadir failed to find the humor in that statement as he hurriedly rushed Erik to the living room. He held out his arm in a gesture to offer his friend a seat, but was surprised to find himself engaged in an embrace.

"I've missed you, old man," Erik told him, smiling as he patted him on the back.

A look of suspicion shadowed Nadir's face as he disengaged from the hug. As Erik finally fell back into the sofa with a happy sigh, the olive-skinned man pondered his friend's actions.

The former opera ghost was quick to pick up on Nadir's silence. "Cat got your tongue?"

Nadir's dark hands flew upward in an exaggerated motion, as though they were poised to either give praise to the heavens above…or strangle the life out of his estranged friend.

A smirk overcame Erik's lips. "I have the feeling you have something you want to ask me."

His blackish brown eyes rolled upward, as high as he could possibly manage. "Uh, YEAH!"

Erik's brows knit together and he sat forward in his seat. "Don't tell me you did not receive my postcards."

"I received your postcards, Erik. You'll just have to forgive me if I am surprised, no, stunned, to see you here in the flesh after a year and a half…"

"Actually, sixteen months," Erik corrected helpfully. "I loved seeing the world, but my soul yearned for Paris."

"So, do you, uh…" Nadir began, not quite sure about how to phrase this sensitive question. "Has your memory, uh…"

"You want to know if my memory has returned," he paused, noting the daroga's anxious expression. "And the only way to answer that is yes and no." For a moment, Erik considered that reply. "Actually, more no than yes. I keep recalling pieces of my life, and like a jigsaw puzzle, many of the important ones are missing, but as the months go by, an event, or an incident will make it's way back into my subconscious. Most have been very unpleasant."

"Do you remember me, Erik?"

"I remember that you were responsible for me in Iran, and…" His face grew serious. "I remember your son, Reza."

More questions burned in Nadir's mind. "And the opera? Do you remember who you were?" _Or what you did?_

As Erik shook his head, they both sighed simultaneously. Nadir's sigh was one of relief, Erik's one of frustration. "I recall certain actions, and can duplicate my past abilities without thought; however, I cannot relate my frame of mind to those actions."

Many times, Erik had found himself with the natural ability to handle a gun, or other weapons. He had sketched images of torture chambers, horrified by the picture in his head of the screaming victims. _There had been victims…and he had been a murderer._

The more he thought about it, the more he felt that he did not want to know more about this shady part of his life, and it haunted him every time his instinctive solutions to problems were first and foremost manipulation and violence. He had been able to successfully brush those thoughts away, and turn to a more reasonable frame of mind, but there had been times that the darker part of his mind fought to take over.

"And, why are you dressed like this?"

At this, Erik gave a loud belly laugh.

Nadir's lips formed a tight line. "You did this for my benefit."

Erik slapped his knee twice. "You should have seen your face!"

* * *

It was all about the drama.

For Senora Carlotta Guidacelli everything was about the drama. Monsieur's Firmin and Andre had long since learned this valuable lesson. So, when the powerful soprano had begun her premenstrual antics or complained about her migraines, the seasoned managers knew just how to deal with her. The diva was still under contract, after all, and since the death of the opera ghost, her temper had calmed. Slowly but surely, they had found a common ground.

"I 'ave a 'eadache-a."

Firmin and Andre shot each other a look, and promptly leaped from their office chairs. "Do you need to lie down?"

"Would you like for me to call a doctor?" Andre asked with utmost concern, as the two proceeded to make their way to the brightly costumed singer like fussy hens.

The back of her hand fell to her forehead, as she summoned tears to her eyes, lavishing every bit of their attention. "No, I be okay."

"How about some aspirin?" Firmin offered, rushing to his desk drawer.

"No, no. I go home now and lay down."

The two managers let out a loud gasp. "Are you coming back tonight?"

"Yes, what about the performance? The audience wants their star," Andre groveled.

Carlotta gave a careless wave of her hand. "Whatever…I go home," she said, turning towards the door.

"But, but…what about…"

The diva turned to face them suddenly. "Da steek. Da steek weel do eet."

At this, the two managers became silent, their eyes wide as she departed, and as the door slammed shut, they gave each other a conspiratorial wink.

Instances such as these had come to occur at least one night a month, and since there was no longer any blackmail involved, and because the girl was talented and genuinely deserved it, Christine, whom Carlotta had dubbed the name "the stick" because of her additional loss of weight, and had appeared little more than skin and bones, had earned the role of understudy as well as her part as the chorus girl. And now that Carlotta felt safe and secure in her role, she had reluctantly agreed to accepting a back up. She knew that nearly five grueling years of nightly performances were wearing her down, and as much as she may not have wanted to admit it, her face, voice, and body were beginning to show the toils of their nearly forty years. As long as it was under her control, and the opera diva had been doing the suggesting, she almost didn't mind Christine performing in her place, but of course would never allow "the stick" to know this.

Firmin pressed a button on the intercom. "Miss Daae, please come to the office."

* * *

"You did the smart thing by disappearing, Erik. The police and the press did not leave the opera house alone for months." Nadir made his way to his desk drawer and pulled out a stack of newspapers and clippings.

Unimpressed, Erik accepted the pile and flipped through the periodicals, sneering at the cruel headlines.

Nadir reached over and pulled one from the bottom. "Take a look at this one."

Taken aback, Erik looked from the gossip magazine's headline and picture to his friend and back again. "I Gave Birth to the Opera Ghost's Love Child," he read, a horrified expression on his face. He eyed the image on the front cover of a toothless woman that he guessed was in her forties, holding a baby boy wearing a tiny white mask covering one side of his face.

"Well, that's just sad," Erik commented as Nadir laughed.

"There are several in there. They had a field day with you, my friend. Let's see, there was another- "The Phantom of the Opera Was Abducted By Aliens.""

Erik could only shake his head.

"Or my personal favorite- "The Opera Ghost Was a Woman.""

A good-natured laugh escaped his lips. "Don't believe everything you read."

"Well, then perhaps you could enlighten me as to your whereabouts…" Nadir suggested, taking a seat next to him on the sofa.

Shaking his head, Erik's face took on a serious look. "Oh no, I can't do that."

"Why not?!"

"Because," he began, leaning in towards him, "then, I'd have… to _kill_ you." Erik said it with a straight face, his blue eyes as cold as ice.

Nadir's eyebrows furrowed together, and he sat there with mouth agape, not knowing what to say, when a smile lit up Erik's face once again.

"Ha! Gotcha again!" he said with a burst of laughter, at which Nadir only studied him with a mixture of horror and amusement. Once Erik had finally recovered from his ill-humored joke, he cleared his throat while the olive-skinned man waited expectantly for explanation. "As I mentioned already, I did a lot of traveling for a year, and on my flight to New York, I befriended a very successful stockbroker…"

Obviously, this was a prelude to a story that Nadir had highly anticipated hearing, and he stood from the sofa and gestured for Erik to follow him to the kitchen. "Coffee?" he interrupted, reaching for the decanter.

2 cups of joe later

"And so, amazingly, my investments skyrocketed in just a short eight month period, allowing me to return to Paris as a prosperous, up and coming composer, independently wealthy."

With wide eyes, Nadir watched as his friend continued to recount his financial success, partially in disbelief that this man was the very same man that had worn a mask, so piteous, and depressing…so long ago…

"And did you know, daroga," Erik continued, his voice lively and rich with enthusiasm, "that the right amount of money can purchase just about anything?"

"A new identity?"

"Absolutely," he concurred, nodding. "Identity, acceptance, an estate constructed from my own design."

"So, is this what have you been doing for the last four months?"

Nodding, he replied, "As well as settling into my new haven, I have managed to publish some of my compositions that were particularly favored in America. As a matter of fact, I've just completed a piece- a very important one that I've been laboring with for a month straight, not even allowing myself the light of day! So, here I am, ready to get out into the world again."

Erik's eyes took notice through the window how the dusk had faded into blackness, and glanced at his watch in surprise. "Well, enough chitchat, old man, go and get ready," Erik directed, heading back towards the living room to fetch his bag.

"Why? For what?" Nadir asked, puzzled, following Erik to the living room.

A smile curled at Erik's lips, and he reached a gloved hand into his pocket. "Of course, I forgot to tell you," he said, pulling out two tickets. "Indeed, it has been a long time, but tonight, my friend, we go to the opera."

* * *


	13. Face to Face

Chapter 13- Face to Face

Her voice was exquisite, and it lifted Erik's soul to the very summit of the heavens. So entranced by the talented brunette was he, that he barely paid any attention to anyone else on the stage, or the bright costumes, or even to the opera itself. He was lost within the bliss of her presence as she sang, each note to perfection, feeling as though he could rise and touch her from his seat, front row and center. Never taking his eyes off of Christine, he memorized her features; the lovely dark brown eyes, once full of light, now appeared lifeless and sad; her skin was pale, her body thin and gaunt in her costume. Still, with that luxurious head of curls, high cheekbones, and those tempting lips, she was a beauty, nonetheless, and truly a gifted performer, pouring her heart into her role, and enrapturing Erik with her natural charisma.

He thought back often to his and Raoul's conversation at the bar nearly a year and a half prior, when the loose-lipped fool had revealed to him the nature of Christine's teacher. She had referred to him as the angel of music. Erik often lay awake at night pondering that relationship. The vicomte's information was vague at best, but what he had revealed was that her deceased father had sent an angel of music to the orphaned Miss Daae as a child, and Erik could only assume that somehow or someway he had assumed that role, teaching her, and molding her into the goddess of melody that sang before him onstage.

Indeed, it was glorious, that this young woman with the voice of an angel could sing like this, entrancing the audience with her mesmeric song- and that _he_ had played a part in her success- even though he could not recall. Pride filled his heart and soul, and he felt almost drunk from it.

When the divine understudy had left the stage, Erik's mind would inevitably wander, anticipating the second when she would return, and for no reason he could think of, his attention would turn upward to the right side of the theater to the balcony seating. _Box Five_. It was definitely familiar to Erik, and he hadn't a clue why. From the time he was seated, he noted that it appeared vacant, and even now he had not spied a single person occupying it. _How very odd…_ but, before he could dwell on that any longer, the young star had graced the stage once more.

For the life of him, he could not understand why such a talent was merely an understudy. To his dismay, he found Carlotta's name and picture as the leading role on the program- Carla, as she had called herself, with her showy style and shrill voice, her singing had reminded him of the annoying nighttime gatherings of noisy tomcats, and wondered how the audience night after night could listen without tossing their shoes at her.

As he watched the enchantress interact with the other characters, he wondered how it was he could have put his Christine doll away for so long. He missed her, and resolutely decided to allow her presence back into his life. It was then when inspiration hit him like cupid's arrow; though the remarkably beautiful Miss Daae was a lesbian, and she could not possibly have any interest in him, all the young understudy required was some meat on her bones, and a breath of life puffed into her, and then nothing would stop the beauty from sharing her talent with all of Paris…or even the world…

A thunderous round of applause resounded throughout the theater, and Nadir had to nudge Erik to gain his attention.

"I'm still not used to seeing you with that wig, Erik," he whispered, clapping. "And that mustache, you are practically unrecognizable."

Erik smiled, standing and applauding the ingénue's performance. "That's the point."

He heard Nadir's voice continuing to speak, although he didn't listen to the words. The former opera ghost's mind was consumed, exhilarated by the idea of just being around Christine, let alone speaking to her. The amnesiac now had a goal…

…and he could not wait to set it in motion.

* * *

She still could not believe it as her eyes took in the abundance of beautiful flowers that brightened her room the next day. The night before, there had been the usual bouquets from the managers, and the odd bunches of blooms from the night's crowds, but what lay before her took her breath away. No less than a dozen fragrant arrangements of pink roses covered her dresser, her vanity, and lined the floor space of her room. She could hardly believe that they were for her, except for the small card contained in the largest arrangement.

_Miss Daae,_

_Congratulations on your magnificent performance. I look forward to hearing more…_

_Fondly,_

A Fan

The managers were all smiles, and practically fawned all over the disguised former opera ghost as the threesome sat comfortably in the office the following afternoon. Erik shared with them his passion for music and the theater. With delight and enthusiasm, and out of sheer desperation, Andre and Firmin nearly clung to him, boasting about the enormous talent of their cast and orchestra.

"Yes, I was very impressed with the performance last night," Erik told them charmingly. "The music so rich, the costumes so vibrant, their voices were like angels."

Andre and Firmin threw each other a look, realizing that this well-dressed man had plenty of money to go around, and since the de Chagny's had disassociated themselves from the opera over a year prior, they were hungry to find a new wealthy patron.

"We don't usually do this," Andre began, nudging Firmin beside him.

"Yes, but how would you like to meet the cast?" Firmin asked.

* * *

She had changed the blocking- again. And Christine hid her frustration at the diva's so-called improvements, trying to remember now that instead of crossing to stage right, to stop down stage and center, and then upon beginning the first line of the solo, moving back to stage left. It was a small change, to be sure, but what frustrated her the most was that the demanding soprano was always making these kinds of changes, and not once was Christine ever allowed to follow along behind her during rehearsal. It was another of the star's ridiculous demands, but if she was to have an understudy, then Christine was to have her own rehearsal. Under no circumstances was Senora Guidacelli going to share the stage with the likes of her lowly substitute. And now, everyone else was expected to continue on as Carlotta stood there like a screaming child, yelling at the top of her lungs for her water bottle.

Dutifully, Christine danced in line with Meg and the other chorus girls, one eye on her surroundings, the other trying to keep up with the antics of the prima donna when the whispers of the two managers and another gentleman fell upon them. And as her gaze turned to the tall, dignified, handsome man, with his sandy colored hair and mustache, Christine was struck by a feeling of recognition, causing her to miss a step, and bump the girl beside her.

Madame Giry shot Christine a sharp look of warning, and she hastily corrected herself, only to have the managers put a halt to their rehearsal.

"Sorry to interrupt, Monsieur Reyer, and Madame Giry. I would like to make a very special announcement," Andre addressed proudly. "We have here a new patron."

Members of the troupe smiled and favored him with approving glances. A new patron ensured their security, and sometimes bonuses.

"He is an up and coming composer. I'd like you all to meet Monsieur Derek Windsor."

While the rest of the cast applauded their elegant new patron, Christine could only stare. This man was strangely familiar to her, only she could not recall why. Her feet felt like they were stuck to the floor as the three men moved about, meeting the leading performers, which of course, she knew she was not. Still, she could not miss how his eyes kept darting back in her direction…

"Meg," she whispered, her feet still unmoving. "Do we know him?"

Meg's eyes glanced furtively at the man, as the rest of the ballet rats took great pleasure in openly admiring the attractive stranger. "I would like to," she replied with a small smile. The line of girls combed at their hair self-consciously while Carlotta continued to talk his ear off with her thick Italian accent, sipping at her Italian water. "He keeps looking over here. Do you think he's married?"

"No," one of the other dancers said. "I don't see a ring."

"And no missus with him," another pointed out, among the rush of gossipy whispers that Madame Giry had felt compelled to come over and silence.

The ballet manager was not so sure about this new patron. Besides the fact that her troupe was making googly eyes at him, no one else seemed to recognize this tall stranger- Derek Windsor. Although, Christine's gaze settled intently on him, Madame Giry had to wonder… Nadir and Madame Giry were the only ones who knew the truth about Erik, but it seemed that the way he was watching the young soprano, he was about to give himself away. She was quick to steer the former opera ghost away from the rehearsal and the managers, in favor of showing him their dance studio. At this point, Andre and Firmin, with happy sighs of relief, adjourned to their office.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed in a low voice, leading him towards the rehearsal room.

With a smile, Erik replied, "It's nice to see you too. Madame Giry, is it?"

She shot him a look that meant death. "This is not funny."

He stopped before they reached the door. "Do you treat all your patrons like this?"

Madame Giry scowled, reaching up with her thumb and forefinger to grasp his earlobe, then opened the door and lead him inside like a small child.

The door closed behind them, and with furrowed eyebrows Erik looked at her angrily, removing her fingers from his ear. "I wish that you would stop doing that!"

"I thought I made myself very clear, Erik," she told him coolly.

"That's Derek," he corrected with a smile, rubbing the sore, tender flesh on his ear. "Derek Windsor."

"Yes, very cute. You were not supposed to come back here."

"I think that under the circumstances, you might make an exception."

Antoinette did not like where this was going. For many years she had found herself under his control, subject to his manipulations, and now was loathe to end up back in that position. "Nothing has changed."

A single dark eyebrow rose on Erik's face. "Actually, everything has changed, Madame. I no longer reside beneath the opera house nor do I have any intent to bring harm to you or anyone else."

He approached her as she stood there rigidly, arms folded across her chest. "And since my patronage is contributing to your job security, I see no problem, do you?"

Oh, how she hated him at that moment. For many years she had helped and protected him, and as hard as it had been to admit to herself, once Erik had disappeared, it had been a huge weight off her shoulders. He stood there before her, looking at her through hazel eyes, his posture tall and confident, his lips falling into an inevitable smile, and all at once Antoinette Giry knew that she had been beaten. But, she would be damned if she was going to let herself fall back into his power again. Her heart felt heavy as she grudgingly nodded. "Very well then, Monsieur Windsor."

"I am not a dangerous man, and I think after time that you will see this for yourself. You have been a good friend to me in the past, and I hope that our friendship will continue in the future."

At this point, she had nothing else to say to him, and with a curt nod, turned to leave the practice room.

"By the way, Antoinette," he began, just as she reached for the doorknob. "My memory is still full of holes, but I do remember about you and Nadir."

* * *

"Fruit," Meg said, looking around Christine's room. Large colorful containers of fancily assorted bright apples, oranges, and bananas, now dominated the space instead of the floral arrangements. "You sure do have a lot of fruit baskets."

Christine finished chewing, her eyes bright and nodding as she spoke. "And chocolate- Meg, the finest chocolates have been arriving every day since my performance. It's amazing!"

Meg's blue eyes were wide. "You weren't kidding," she remarked, her fingers searching the tags on the baskets. "Who are they from?"

Shrugging her shoulders, she popped another chocolate into her mouth. "They only say that they are from "a fan"."

Plopping herself onto the bed beside her friend, Meg examined the sinful boxed assortment of confections in Christine's hands. "It looks like you have a secret admirer."

"It looks like he wants to make me fat," she declared, her eyes turning to the various edibles that occupied her small space.

"You could use some weight on you, Christine."

"I know, it's just that I haven't had much of an appetite since…"

"I know," Meg replied quietly. She had witnessed the depression firsthand. "Anyhow, it looks like that has changed with the arrival of Monsieur Windsor."

Her friend's face lit up at the name, Meg noticed.

"All the girls have been talking about him," Christine replied, trying with difficulty not to show her interest in their new patron. Even if it were possible that this remarkably attractive man could have the slightest interest in her, it could lead to a conflict of interest…a mistake that Christine thought should not be repeated two times with a patron…the first, namely Raoul, who after accepting her lie, simply stopped attending, until finally he withdrew himself and his family name from the Opera Populaire.

"But, you aren't interested?" Meg questioned secretively.

Christine shook her head firmly. "Absolutely not." As long as she did not see him seated up there in the dark area of box five, she would not feel intrigued by his beguiling presence.

"Well, then, Mama sent me to tell you to be on time for your rehearsal."

A puzzled look came across her features. She had come to enjoy this free time the past couple of days. "But, the accompanist has the flu…" _And she was so full from eating so much chocolate that she could barely move._ And besides that, the last thing she felt like she needed was more rehearsals. She knew both parts backwards and forward…

Meg stole a glance at her watch. "Monsieur Reyer insisted you be there."

With a sigh, Christine rushed from her room. Monsieur Reyer had not played in years due to his arthritis and the orchestra would not be there until tonight. _Had the spoiled diva made additional changes?_ As she approached from behind the stage, she could hear two male voices laughing, and some plinking at the piano. Hiding herself behind the curtain, Christine listened to try to make out the voices. One was most certainly Monsieur Reyer, and the other…the other, _Oh God_…she thought, her heart pounding in her chest as the other male's voice claimed the air with its hypnotic resonance.

An upbeat tune she was not familiar with rang out beautifully from the piano, and Reyer applauded as it came to an end. "That was delightful, Monsieur Windsor. I, myself have done a bit of composing…in my younger days."

"Really?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"Yes, but I never published."

She didn't hear the rest of the chatter as she took a deep breath, and emerged onto the stage with a self-assured smile.

"Ah yes, Miss Daae, have you met Monsieur Derek Windsor?"

"Not personally," she replied softly, as the elegant man stood from the piano, his eyes claiming hers magnetically.

"No, I don't believe I have had the honor," Erik announced, his legs moving in long strides to meet face to face at center stage with the young woman who had the face of his doll.

As Reyer made the introductions, Christine's hand lifted to meet the man's automatically. Her hand looked monumentally smaller in his larger graceful one. Her eyes once again took in his dauntless stature, his chiseled features, and those amazing colored eyes…

"Are you ready for rehearsal?" Reyer asked, but could tell by the puzzled look on the young woman's face that she would require some explanation. "You see, my friend, Monsieur Windsor here, who is not only a published composer and an accomplished pianist, has also given voice lessons in the United States."

All right, the part about giving lessons in the U.S.A. was a fib, Erik thought, but at least the rest of it was true enough. And now he found his breath taken away by the lovely Miss Daae, who was no doubt surprised to see him, and Erik could not help but feel charmed by the slight blush that had risen on her cheeks.

"He has graciously agreed to stay and assist me with your rehearsal."

With wide eyes she looked from the maestro to the opera's attractive new patron, who gave her a gentlemanly bow. What could she say? That the fluttering in her stomach was too distracting, or that the thumping of her heart was so strong that she felt it may burst from her chest at the sight of him? And she could not very well follow her urge to sprint off the stage. She was a professional, after all.

Her voice emerged, small and weak from her throat. "O…okay."

* * *

A/N: I know, finally they meet! Stay tuned for more and please don't forget to leave feedback!


	14. Sing For Me

A/N:Thanks as always for the feedback and for reading. Love you, people!

Chapter 14- Sing For Me

Something about this was so deliciously familiar.

Although he had no recollection of their supposed lessons, there was the distinct feeling of rightness to it, as though this was the way it was meant to be. Erik's fingers were meant to draw the sounds from the piano, as Christine was meant to produce the glorious notes with the sweet perfection of her voice.

Erik had sensed her nervousness during the warm-ups, the way her eyes stayed fixed downward, and was quick to notice the stiffness of her body as she stood there. Reyer sat in the audience in observant silence, and since the conductor seemed to be giving Erik free rein with the young ingénue, then he decided he would take it.

He stood up from the piano bench and silently made his way to her, her gaze now favoring the curious conductor and the vastness of the empty theater. She was such a delicate creature standing there, he thought. Stress was written across her lovely face, and it was as though the wrong word might cause the young beauty to fall to pieces. Carefully he stood by her side, his voice gentle and as always disguised as he spoke.

"Miss Daae, if I may, I would like to work with you on your breathing."

Her only response was a nod, her gaze still forward.

"First, I need for you to look at me."

* * *

He was standing excruciatingly close, so close that she could smell the heady scent of his cologne, and feel the intoxicating burn from his gaze. It was like a schoolgirl crush, and as his very presence prompted a swarm of butterflies in her stomach, she had no idea how to manage his simple request to look at him. Get a hold of yourself, Christine, she told herself. She was nearly twenty-one years old, not some foolish teenager, and certainly no stranger to performing. Shyly, she turned her gaze to his, nearly drawing a breath as she met the alluring mix of the yellow and greenish speckles of his hazel eyes.

"Now, then, take a deep breath, and let the tension fall from your body," he instructed, demonstrating his request.

Following suit, she found that the tension did as it pleased, staying tucked neatly in her shoulders and neck, and now poked at her stomach. He seemed to catch onto this, clueless that he was the very reason for her nervousness.

"That didn't help, did it?" he asked with a smile.

She could not suppress the girlish giggle that escaped her lips as she looked up into his handsome face. "No."

Nodding, he instructed her to take another deep breath and moved behind her. "We'll try something else. Now close your eyes, and clear your mind."

Closing her eyes, she could now feel the faint prickle of his breath at her ear that caused a wave of goose bumps to flood her body. _Clear your mind_, she told herself, willing her mind to concentrate on his words rather than on the man speaking them. _Good luck with that!_ She nearly gasped as his hands softly gripped the area between her shoulders and neck, massaging the flesh with gentle fingers. In response, her head leaned backward a bit, as the ecstasy of his touch did battle with the stiffness of her muscles, and a fierce blush took to her face.

"There, that's better," he told her. "Now, take a deep breath once more," he said, removing his hands from her shoulders, watching as her body relaxed. "Good."

He moved in front of her, and Christine's eyes fell to the floor once again, hoping that the pink had disappeared from her face, as he explained an exercise where she would take a single breath and sing at a comfortable pitch beginning at the number one, and counting upward.

"One, two, three, four…" she sang all the way to the number fifteen.

"Very good," he complimented, "but this time, breathe from here," he said, setting four fingers just beneath her rib cage. "Your diaphragm. Now, please, try it again."

She tried to ignore the fact that his hand was between two very sensitive areas of her body, and obeyed, counting again. "One, two, three…" she sang, counting upward once more, her body relaxing as he moved his hand away. "Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…" She tensed again once she realized he was behind her, now straightening her shoulders, and moving her chin upward, as though she were his very own mannequin to position any way he pleased.

The dashing Monsieur Windsor made his way before her once more, smiling approvingly, as she sang on a single breath up to twenty-five. Christine's nervousness had faded as she had slowly found herself more comfortable with him, and before she knew it, he had settled himself back onto the piano bench, plinking at some notes experimentally.

"Well done, Miss Daae, and now let us begin with scales…"

30 minutes later…

Her voice was like a drug that surged powerfully through his veins, and Erik felt invigorated by their session as, before his eyes, the formerly timid Miss Daae gave life to each note on the page. They had nearly forgotten Reyer's presence in the audience as Erik worked tirelessly, nudging a most agreeable Christine above her customary vocal range, tempting her with the gentle insistence of the ivory keys. It was as though he had known exactly what she was capable of, sensing that the young beauty had not realized her full potential. There were a couple of times when it seemed that Reyer might interrupt, as if to discourage the musician's high-reaching goals. What the orchestra conductor found in the exceptional singer onstage was an extraordinarily willing pupil, who, with new light in her eyes, pushed herself to meet his gentle demands.

With her final solo drawing to a close, Erik gave her a confident wink, assuring her with a knowing smile. He nearly held his breath as her voice rose to the height of the climax; pitch perfect, the tone crystal clear, the note seeming as high as the heavens. Once it ended, his fingers deserted the keys promptly in favor of granting his pupil his humble applause, and with an invigorated smile, Christine simply looked at this remarkable man, her heart pounding with joy, their eyes locking in mutual delight at their accomplishment when the sound of applause broke the spell.

The ranks of the audience had swelled, to include not only Reyer, but also Monsieurs Firmin and Andre, Madame Giry, and Meg. And, to Christine's shock, Piangi sat there with a broad smile, favoring her with his own praise.

Caught up in the moment, Reyer stood up enthusiastically, his hands clapping furiously, and shouted to the very talented patron/composer/pianist, "You're hired!"

The two managers were quick to frown at the conductor, and approached Erik onstage, hiding their disapproval at Reyer's comment.

"That was extraordinary," Andre said, looking from Monsieur Windsor to Christine, who had now joined them at the piano.

"Stupendous!" Firmin agreed.

"Breathtaking."

As the managers continued to gush, Madame Giry had also made her way onstage, whispering in Christine's ear that it was time for dance rehearsal. All at once, this glorious cloud that she had been floating on for the past hour was suddenly dissipating beneath her, and dread shook her body like an earthquake. Her mind pushed away all her girlish desires of being near him. It was dangerous to feel this way, she knew, but somewhere deep inside her, there was a yearning, screaming to get out. No, she didn't want to leave just yet.

"Thank you, Monsieur Windsor. I have to go now."

Erik rose and took her hand in his, shaking it gently. "It was my pleasure."

Reyer had caught up with Firmin and Andre onstage, and turned their attention to another musical selection.

Her eyes sadly left the face of the man she'd felt instantly connected to, and she turned to exit the stage when he called out to her.

"I look forward to hearing more of you," he said, smiling. With a wink, he added, "And now I'm an even bigger fan."

* * *


	15. Insanity Revisited

Chapter 15- Insanity-Revisited

Erik could not recall the last time he had felt so inspired.

It was all he could do to separate the manager's incessant chatter from his ear, and physically separate his self from that opera house.

_Christine._

She must have been an angel, and still he could feel that incredible high from being near her. So many feelings coursed through him, and as charged up as he felt at that moment, he didn't bother to sort them out.

With the silliest of grins on his face, Erik pushed his way through his ornate wooden doors, sweeping, no, gliding into his luxurious estate, past the housekeeper, Daphne, as she tended to her dusting, up the marble staircase, four doors to the right, into his master suite. His elegant fingers reached for the remote and pointed it to the television, pressing a small blue button, which immediately caused the built in entertainment center to revolve.

The small room that it revealed held objects from what he now considered his former life. Trinkets, clothing, and his beloved Christine doll- now put together once again, stayed safely stowed away for only his eyes to see. As he made his way to a locked box to retrieve a composition, he paused at the figure that always drew him to a halt; those warm brown eyes bathed him in celestial comfort. She was a treasure- his Christine, and there was never a time when he looked at her, that he was not swept away by her beauty, but even now, standing and stroking the long, dark tresses of the lifeless doll before him, it didn't compare to the majesty of the woman herself. With a sigh, he shook himself from her spell, proceeding to the trunk, and dialed the combination.

It was right on top, as it always was.

The dreaded piece that had haunted him since he left the opera house so many months prior was on top of the stack of other compositions. Don Juan Triumphant. How many times had he sat at his piano with new hope, ending with the horrible temptation of burning it in the fire? How many times had madness stirred within his mind at its powerful song? Even now, as he held it in his hands, fingering the wrinkled edges of the opera, Erik had to wonder if this time would be any different than the others. But as he held the weathered pages, he could hear that angelic voice in his mind, her song calling to him with the comfort of the sun, and all at once, his other hand closed the lock box. With hope in his heart, and a gleam in his eye, the former opera ghost held the pages in his hand, making his way to the music room.

* * *

"_And now I'm an even bigger fan."_

Those words had rocked Christine's world. Not only had this man, with his devastatingly good looks and talent, who had appeared out of nowhere, managed within a very short time to poke his way through to the stubborn void that Erik had left behind, but he had unwittingly reached into her very soul…through music, and she had felt almost born again. But he had also confessed to being her fan…a secret admirer, as Meg had suggested.

…and now, Christine found herself in a daze. Confirming his words with the several cards that had accompanied the floral arrangements, kept in a tidy stack beside her nightstand, her feet as she danced now were as light as air, during rehearsal she moved automatically, consumed by the gentleness of his voice, and the tenderness of his actions.

…and the familiarity was so alarming…and strange. Of course, he had reminded her of her deceased angel of music, with his height, presence, and natural musical abilities, but, Christine had to remind herself that this Monsieur Windsor was so very different than Erik, not only in appearance; his actions were not those of a soul tainted by loathing and prejudice, but a youthful, vital being, who as he walked, as he existed, possessed the power to draw people to him. And indeed, that is what he had done; he had drawn her to him like a powerful magnet.

As much as her mind fought against her heart's troubling temptations for this man, and as much as she would have liked to deny it, Christine could not wait to see him again.

* * *

It had begun with the slamming of the doors. One slam. Polishing the fixtures in the upstairs guest bathroom, Daphne tore the earphones from her ears to be sure. Another slam, then it was silent, and her pulse quickened in anticipation. "C'mon," she said, under her breath, willing forth the sound of another slamming door, running the cloth hastily over the brass showerhead. A few minutes passed and she let out a disappointed sigh. _False alarm…_ but just as she began to put the ear buds back into place, the glorious bang of a door being smacked angrily against its frame rang out once again, causing the young maid to drop her I-pod carelessly to the floor, sprinting from the lemony-scented room, practically flying down the stairs, eager for what came next, her large breasts and blond ponytail bouncing simultaneously with each step.

There were two rooms side by side. One was the music room; she cleaned it, keeping the grand piano inside nice and shiny. The room beside it remained closed and locked, and neither she nor any of the other staff was allowed within its four walls. This rule was made clear to Daphne the day that she moved in. Naturally, she was curious, but she respected her handsome boss, and trusted him implicitly, even if his actions at times were eccentric, and she had come to learn over the past few months that once Derek Windsor stormed from one room to the next, his face red with anger, that she was in for a real treat. Silent as a mouse, she stood outside the double doors of the music room, still clutching the cleaning cloth in her hand, waiting, listening.

First came the music, the tune that by now had filled her young heart with joy. She had never heard it before she came to work for him, but knew that the instrumentals were only a prelude to the delight that followed.

His voice, unearthly and beautiful, emerged, singing in Italian a song made famous by a certain blind opera singer who's name she did not know, nor could she in her wildest dreams hope to decipher the words.

"Quando sono solo

sogne all' orrizonte

a mancan le parole,

Si lo so che non c'e luce

In una stanza quando manca il sole,

Se non ci sei tu con me, con me."

She breathed in the melody like oxygen as he sang the words with a perfect accent, imagining that Monsieur Windsor's version would surely have brought tears of envy to the original tenor upon hearing the elegance and purity of this man's voice.

"Con te partiro,

su navi per mari,

che, lo lo so,

no, no, non esistono piu,

con te lo li vivro."

As the maid continued to listen to the song filled with hope and promise, tears filled her eyes at its beauty, and as it reached it's first crescendo, a most disturbing sound encompassed the large foyer…the rather loud chime of the doorbell.

"Merde!" she cursed desperately, wondering if maybe she didn't answer if the damned fool at the door would go away and leave her to enjoy the bliss of her master's voice. Unfortunately for Daphne, he employed a small staff, adequate enough for his estate, and raising one eyebrow in anger, the young woman proceeded in haste to the front door.

* * *

Ordinarily, the Iranian would have been angry at the rudeness of the blond beauty who answered the door, but was too preoccupied by the skimpiness of the maid's uniform, and the incredible cleavage that stared back at him. Following behind, he inquired in a low voice about Erik, not even bothered by the way she kept shushing him, as she led him to the doors to the music room.

"Con te partiro," sang the voice on the other side of the doors, and Nadir was quite impressed as he recognized the tune made famous by Andrea Bocelli.

"Is that Er-, uh Derek?" he asked the blond, catching his error.

"Shhhhh!"

Taken aback, Nadir waited as the final words of the song were sung, the maid, now leaning her ear against the door with eyes closed.

"Lo con te!"

Once the music had come to a close, and the housekeeper finally tore herself from the door, she wiped the tears from her eyes, and pulled at and straightened her short, ruffled black skirt. Eyeing the olive-skinned gentleman before her, she cleared her throat. "Your name, please, Monsieur?" she asked with a polite smile, her face completely devoid of any of its previous hostility.

"Khan," he answered carefully, wondering if she might revert back to shushing him. "Nadir Kh-"

She didn't let him finish. Knocking on the door, she announced loudly with a thick French accent, "Monsieur Khan to see you, Monsieur Windsor."

* * *

With disapproving eyes, Nadir took in the room's interior. "You're insane."

Erik ran his hand along the smooth, stone-covered grey walls. "You may be right, old man."

It was a carbon copy of his lair, including the piano, the dozens of candles, the velvet draperies that adorned sections of the walls. "Unbelievable, it's just like at the opera house."

"Except it smells better," Erik quipped.

"Why?" he asked incredulously, his eyes taking in the familiar knick knacks, amazed at the details of this reproduction. "You already showed me your music room."

Looking down, Erik walked the length of the cavernous space. "It feels like home," he admitted. "And this is where my composing is most effective, although I have tried the other room." Except, what Erik failed to mention is that his opera "Don Juan Triumphant" proved to be a hellacious project. The temptation had been to douse it in flames, to run it through the paper shredder, to stomp on it with his feet…There had been another temptation that Erik knew was more insane than the recreation of this room, the temptation to bring the dangerous composition into the room in which the two men now stood. Just the thought of carrying the pages through the threshold was like standing at the gates of hell, and somewhere deep inside he realized that once he allowed himself to go there, he might never be able to leave.

There was a small knock at the door, and Erik was grateful for the interruption. "Your coffee, Monsieur."

After locking the door behind him, Erik led the way to his office, where the enthusiastic young blond entered with exaggerated movements, setting a tray down on the desk as Nadir watched her every move.

As the door closed shut behind her, Erik looked suspiciously at the older man. "What do you think you are doing?"

Snapping out of his spell, slightly embarrassed, Nadir shot back, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself making a young innocent like her dress like that!"

Erik gave him a wry smile. "Daphne," he began, sipping his coffee, "is no innocent. She propositioned me in a bar, wearing an outfit that barely covered her body, sporting the remnants of a bruise around her left eye. She nearly went into hysterics when I turned her down. And I offered her a job working for me, because for one, I needed a maid…"

"The proverbial French maid as I can see…"

"And there was something about her, she reminded me of someone, and I could not bear to leave her to work the streets of Paris any longer."

Nadir knew exactly who it was, only it hadn't occurred to him until that very moment. _Meg_. And suddenly he felt an ashamed blush rise to his cheeks.

"And I did not provide her with that uniform. She wears it by choice." Erik raised one eyebrow. "But I noticed you sure did get an eyeful. I wonder how Antoinette would feel about that."

That was a sore subject for Nadir. He was deeply in love with the ballet manager, but although she had not dated anyone besides him, she refused to commit to a relationship.

He reached for his coffee, dropped some sugar cubes into the cup and stirred. "In fact, that is the reason for my visit. Antoinette has informed me that you have agreed to tutor Christine."

Erik smiled. "Yes, she is a brilliant talent and I will gladly work with the girl."

"Erik…"

"Derek," he corrected.

"Yes, well, Derek, it's a bad idea."

"I think it's a wonderful idea. Christine continues her lessons…" _I get to see Christine_. "The managers get quality instruction for their understudy for free…" _I get to see Christine._ "I get to hang around the opera house- in a non-threatening way…" _I get to see Christine_.

"And, you get to see Christine."

Erik really hated the way Nadir seemed to see right through him. "I don't see the problem."

"The problem is that she will figure out who you are…"

"Not going to happen, my friend."

"You are asking for trouble. You should take Antoinette's advice and stay away from that girl. You can hardly hide your obsession." Nadir lifted his cup to his lips and took a sip.

His lips set in a line. Erik had an inkling that his olive-skinned friend may be right, but quickly pushed that thought away. "I am a grown man, of, mostly, sound mind, and I can control myself. Besides, given Christine's…er…preferences…it should hardly be a problem."

The coffee almost shot out through Nadir's nose. _Preferences._ Apparently, Erik had believed the rumor that circulated through the opera house about the young ingenue's sexual orientation…

…and as long as he continued to believe it, and Erik's memory did not fully return, then Nadir realized that perhaps there was nothing to worry about after all.

* * *

Disclaimer:The lyrics from "Con Te Partiro" do not belong to me!

A/N: Thanks as always for reading. It should all make sense in the end...Please review!


	16. Ahchoooo!

**Chapter 16- Ah-choooo!**

The hours when he was not around dragged on endlessly, and yet somehow time seemed to fly as he tutored her. For the past two days, she had shown progress and grown more comfortable with the opera house's new patron. Charmed by his smile and easy laughter, Christine found that she was losing herself quickly to this man's talent, to the intense way he would set his eyes on her, to the natural high she felt when he was there with her. It was deeply disconcerting…and thrilling…and Christine could not remember ever feeling more alive.

Inwardly she cursed, as Meg appeared in the wings to remind her that it was time for rehearsal. Inadvertently, she turned her eyes away from her friend, wishing with all of her heart that today's lesson didn't have to end yet, that these sessions did not have to take place before Reyer and whomever felt like observing, and most of all, and it was too daring to even hope, that she might be alone with him, apart from watchful, judging eyes. But reality sank in at last, and Christine waved to the blonde in acknowledgment.

Erik stood from the piano, stretching his fingers. "Big night, tonight."

"Yes," she agreed, as she was to stand in once again for Carlotta. She wrung her fingers nervously. "Will you…?"

"Be here?"

Her heart pounded as she waited for his answer, nodding like a silly girl.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

The look of relief was apparent on the young woman's face. "I have to go now, thank you, Monsieur Windsor."

"I think we are past formalities. Call me Derek," he said, moving closer to her, his eyes settling on the perfect shape of her mouth.

A smile crossed her lips as she repeated his name, looking up into the mesmerizing hazel of his eyes. She would have gladly called him by any name just to stay in his presence a little while longer. "Call me Christine, then."

"Christine!" Meg called out, irritated, and pointing to her watch.

Alarmed, Christine looked apologetically to her private tutor, beginning to back away toward Meg's voice. "Thank you, Derek, see you tonight."

In true gentleman form, Erik gave her a bow. "Oh, and Christine?"

Her heart nearly stopped at the surge of electricity that ran through her at the sound of Derek voicing her name. "Yes?"

"Break a leg."

* * *

Wild horses could not have prevented him from attending the performance. It was true that he'd been using every natural remedy known to mankind to fend off the burning irritation in his throat as well as the insistent dripping of his nose, but the headache that had crept up on him that evening came at him with a vengeance. Erik told himself that he was immune to illness, and that it was absurd that he could possibly catch a virus…and from who, he wondered. Everyone seemed to be in good health, except of course, for the accompanist who still had not recuperated. Why, in God's name, he wondered, had no one thought to disinfect the piano? Though the pain reliever had proved ineffective, he was still happy to be there up in his private little haven in box five, and rose to his feet enthusiastically to applaud Christine's curtain call.

She was perfection. Her face glowed with her success as she looked up at him, her grin wide and proud. At that moment, Erik had never thought she was more beautiful, and he did not know if it was due to the rapture of her tour de force, or if his eyes were trying to tell him something as they clouded up, and with nose sniffling, he removed his hanky to dab lightly at the wetness beneath his lashes.

It was a shame. It was a crime that this girl was not allowed to perform the lead every night. Anyone could see how much the audience adored her. Clearly, it was time for Carlotta to retire, he thought. Who could bear to listen to her shrill voice anyway as she strutted around the stage with those awful bags beneath her eyes? _Who?_

While the audience continued with their applause, Erik turned to his arrangement of pink roses near his feet, and made his way down to Christine's dressing room.

* * *

She had not even stopped to hear the cast's congratulations, and steered clear of Madame Giry. Christine hoped upon hope that when she saw Derek's shadow leave box five that he was heading toward her dressing room. Her pulse still raced from the performance, and she felt giddy, just like the very first time she had performed nearly two years ago, though, tonight it was on her own merit, not due to her former angel's manipulations, and of course, secretly she was grateful for the power of Carlotta's migraines…Though she had performed the role at least a half a dozen times, Christine knew she owed this success to Monsieur Windsor…Derek.

The names were so ridiculously similar, she knew…Derek, Erik, but this man, this new patron, in mere days had lit a torch inside her, refreshed her passion for singing and for life. She had thought that that part of herself had died along with the man who had tragically taken his life five stories below. Christine had never wanted to believe him to be dead, but the fact was that she could not feel her beloved angel anymore; the inexplicable mental connection that they shared had been long since absent.

As her feet made their way to the privacy of her room, the nagging feeling came to her again. She knew this man, Derek, and oh, from where, she wondered for the hundredth time. It was on the tip of her tongue…but before she could ponder that any further she drew closer to the tall tuxedo-clad man standing before her door, a large vase of roses in one arm, his face buried in the sleeve of his other, emitting a rather loud sneeze.

* * *

"Bless you."

Erik looked up self-consciously, hoping that the force from that sneeze had not caused his wig to move, furiously resisting the urge to reach the hair with his fingers; instead he once again extracted his handkerchief and dabbed lightly at his nose. Quickly he turned to meet her gaze, finding his breath now taken away by her beauty. "Excuse me," he replied with an embarrassed smile, tucking the folded cloth hastily away in his pocket. "And thank you."

"Are you allergic?"

Remembering the offering in his hand, he held the attractive arrangement out to her. "No," he replied softly. "But, these are for you, Christine. You were amazing tonight."

Another smile lit up her face as she accepted the fragrant roses, allowing a couple of the buds to brush her nostrils, inhaling their delightful scent. Her eyes stayed fixed on him, though, falling into the spell of his eyes, celebrating this private moment in her mind.

He had no idea how long they stood there, outside her door, his eyes photographing the image of her; of how pale her skin was beside the dark pinkness of the flowers, how brightly her eyes shined as she looked up at him, how luxuriously her tresses hung around her face. It was a delicious moment, where anything was possible, and Erik could not help but wonder whether she truly was a lesbian; how he wanted to lean his lips down onto hers and find out…

A rush of excited voices broke the weight of their affected gaze, and Christine quickly snapped back to reality, her eyes shooting from the oncoming members of the troupe and back to the doorknob of her room. "Hurry!" she told him, quickly opening the door, and uncharacteristically grabbing Erik's hand and pulling him inside. Leaning against the door guardedly, she locked it, and her heart raced as she considered the rashness of her actions. After all, here was a man she hardly knew, a patron, no less, and she practically threw him into her room. He must think her to have the typical reputation of ballet rats.

"Nice room."

"Thank you. Listen, I don't normally do this," she explained, setting the arrangement down on her dresser, amongst the profusion of other vases and baskets. She moved toward him as he stood with his back to the long closet mirror he had recognized as one he had used many times before. "I just wanted to say thank…"

"Christine!" Meg's voice squeaked on the other side of the door, twisting the doorknob handle. "Christine, you were awesome, open up!"

Christine's eyes opened wide and she headed to the door, leaning her back against it once more. "Thank you, Meg, but I'm not feeling so well right now…"

"You really should open up, Christine."

"No, that's not a good idea, Meg," she said with a forced smile, watching the man in her room with horrified embarrassment.

The blonde's voice turned into a loud whisper. "Seriously, Christine. I know you are not alone."

"That's crazy!" Christine called out.

"I know you have a man in there."

All the color drained from Christine's face, and she whispered a small "excuse me" to Erik, turning from him, her face pressing against the door. Matching Meg's volume, she whispered back in angry voice, "Don't be silly!"

Erik took this opportunity to turn to face the mirror, finally able to inspect whether the wig was on his head right, adjusting the sides carefully.

"I am not being silly and you know it! I know you have a man in there!"

Facing her vocal coach once again, she felt herself blush many shades of red. _What must he have thought?!_

Sensing the discomfort between Christine and the blonde dancer, Erik kept quiet, now preoccupied with the incessant tickling in his nose.

Christine was feeling very cornered, and the only thing she felt she could do was lie. "No, I do not have a man in here, Meg, now please!"

"Ah-choooooo!"

It was a very masculine, very loud, reverberating sneeze, and Christine's eyes opened even wider, fearing that she had been caught…and she was right.

"Christine! I know that wasn't you!" Meg retorted, her voice still a harsh whisper.

"Ah-chooooo!" he sneezed again, followed by more sneezing at which Erik turned away from Christine, facing the mirror once again, covering his entire face with his hands, and trying his darndest to keep his head perfectly still so as not to send the wig flying across the room. If there were ever a time he wished to escape from Christine's room, and he never thought there would be, that time was now.

With a disappointed sigh, Christine spoke again to the door. "Can we please talk about this later, Meg?" Things were _so_ not going the way she had hoped, she thought sadly, after all, she only wanted to thank him…although, was that truly the only thing she wanted?

"Fine," Meg replied.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Christine hoped that was the end of it.

"But, I'm not the only one who knows."

Christine bit her lip to suppress a curse. If the managers suspected something was going on, they might be quick to stop it, to curb a potential romance before it began, to circumvent losing yet another patron. And Madame Giry, if she knew…ugh, Christine did not want to think about that. She no longer heard Meg on the other side of the door and turned back to Erik, finding him standing tall and handsome, there in her room.

"I am so sorry about that."

"I have to apologize for that as well, Christine, I hope that I did not cause trouble for you and your girlfriend."

Her jaw just about dropped. "If you mean, girlfriend, as in best friend, just like a sister, then you would be correct."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh…my…God," she breathed, her face and now her body was flushing. "What have you heard about me?"

He only stood there, feeling quite uneasy, not knowing what to say.

Her hands flew to her face, in an attempt to cover the rapid red color devouring her pale pigment, and turned away from him, unable to recall the last time she had felt so humiliated. "I think that you should leave."

Rubbing at the itchiness of his nose, Erik had to agree. The situation had made them both uneasy, and whether or not she was gay, he wanted her to feel comfortable around him because, try as he might, he still wanted to be around her. Soon, he felt another ugly fit of sneezing coming on and needed to prevent the loss of his wig. Next thing on his "to do" list…lose the wig, dye the hair. "Ah-choooo!" he sneezed, nodding. "Congratulations, you were deligh…ah-chooooo!"

"Thank you," Christine replied, trying to remind herself that this man actually did respect her for her talent. She might have gone and given him a hug had he not continually sneezed into his handkerchief. "I really appreciate…"

A knocking at the door interrupted her. "Miss Daae? Are you in there?" Andre's voice rang out cheerfully.

Christine wanted to scream. "Yes, Monsieur Andre. I'm just not feeling very well right now."

"We just wanted to congratulate you on a splendid performance. We have something here for you," Firmin told her through the door.

She knew she was getting desperate when this insane idea came to her mind, and that she was actually going to go through with it. "Just a minute," she called out.

Explaining that it didn't seem like they were going to leave her alone, Christine handed Erik a flashlight, showed him the two-way mirror, and directed him toward a way out. The sooner the better, as his eyes were watering, he was feeling very lightheaded, and his head was beginning to pound. Facing the managers in Christine's room was an unappealing prospect, and as he moved along the familiar hallway behind the mirror he almost laughed at the irony.

It had been a peculiar night, and as he shone the light on a candelabra fixture hanging on the wall, he gave it a familiar twist, and the door/wall promptly revolved, but as he stepped out into the other side, he found the disdainful eyes of Madame Giry.

* * *

A/N: Hang in there with me...and as always, please review!


	17. Don't Speak

**CHAPTER 17- Don't Speak**

_He could not see her face. She was so angry, though, pounding madly on his chest with her fists and screaming that she hated him. Erik had __an aching__ feeling inside as he __grasped__ her wrists, gently trying to console her. Struggling free from his grasp, she slapped him, and turning away from him, all he could make out was the flash of blond hair… _

* * *

Tossing and turning in his bed, Erik was hit by a barrage of feverish nightmares. Trying to soothe him, Daphne wrung the damp washcloth in a basin, applying it again to the burning skin of her boss's forehead. She had never seen him this way before; in his weakened state, and under the doctor's orders, she had done her best to play nursemaid. Still, it was disturbing as he slept fitfully, often shouting out and screaming his heart's agony, and most disconcerting, he continually called out a woman's name…_Christine._

Daphne stayed by his side, tending to his fever, forcing fluids down his throat, pondering the peculiarities that had recently come to light about her employer. It was curious to her how after a night at the opera, an older woman had brought him home, burning with fever, his face pale, his hair dark brown and matted against his head. The woman simply told the young maid to tend to him, and after helping her get him to bed, she removed an item from her purse- his sandy blond wig. And then she was gone.

The young housekeeper knew it was not her place to ask; she owed him so much, and the last thing he needed was to be troubled by her questions. Finally after the drudge of many hours, her master's breathing finally calmed. The thermometer revealed that his fever was decreasing, and thanking God, Daphne herself breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

It was a nasty bug.

Erik had no clue as to how many hours or even days had passed as he rode the feverish wave of his flu. At least his throat didn't burn like an inferno anymore, but still his time over the next few days had been spent in bed alternating through fits of hot flashes and extreme bouts of chills, not to mention a cough that had left him hoarse.

True, the fever had passed, but the nightmares stuck with him like sap, thick and unyielding, and he could still feel the sting on his cheek from the force of the blonde's hand. Unfortunately, he could not recall anything else. The last thing he remembered was taking the passageway behind Christine's mirror, feeling his head spinning, wondering if he would be able to take one more step…

There was a knock at the door and his young blonde maid entered with a tray of steaming soup and a tall glass of juice, a bright smile on her face. "You are looking better, Monsieur."

Still feeling weak, Erik sat up, propping the pillows behind him as Daphne set the tray over his lap. A cough overtook him, and Erik cleared his throat, trying to speak with what little he had left of his voice. "Thank you, Daphne. And for the thousandth time," he said, coughing again, "you may call me Derek."

"Oui, Monsieur," she replied, taking a thermometer, inserting it into his ear, and checking his temperature again, just in case. She seemed content to ignore his last statement.

Perhaps, she was more comfortable this way, he thought. Erik looked up into the kind, big blue eyes of his would-be nursemaid, and took her hand in his. Clearing his throat again, he willed his voice to come through. "You are an angel, Daphne," he said, but it sounded more like a croak. "Thank you for taking care of me," he whispered with a grateful smile.

Satisfied with the temperature reading, Daphne shot him a smile back. "Oui, Monsieur. I am happy you are feeling better. By the way, you have been receiving calls from the opera house. They would like to know when you will be back. What would you like me to tell them?"

Erik blew on the soup steaming before him, pondering that very question. He could barely leave the bed to use the restroom, let alone venture out to the opera house. "I don't know," he croaked. "I will call later when my voice is better." As Daphne left the room, he could not help thinking of Christine. He missed her desperately, and wondered, like a fool, if she missed him too. He also wondered if they would be able to get past the fact that she knew that he was aware of her preference for women. She seemed horrified by that realization. Had she not come out of the closet yet? Or, he could only wish, maybe, just maybe, she wasn't really gay at all?

* * *

The ingénue had gone through many emotions: embarrassment, disgust, confusion, and depression…and those were only in the first few days that Erik had not returned to the opera house for her lessons. When still he had not returned for the next performance, her emotions varied from anger and frustration evolving finally into sadness and regret. _It was all her fault._ Feeling humiliated about his knowledge of the rumor was one thing, but then realizing that he actually believed it had pushed her over the edge. And now, she was prone to believing that her act of immaturity had kept him away…

_Or maybe he had been in an accident, possibly injured, in a hospital bed somewhere…oh God…or maybe_, she thought, trying not too quickly to jump to conclusions_, maybe he was just too busy, or maybe he was sick…_

Five days had passed and though she didn't want to seem over-eager by inquiring about him, Christine could no longer stand not knowing, could not admit to herself that she missed seeing him. Resolutely, she closed the bedroom door behind her and set off to find Monsieur Reyer.

The Next Day

Christine felt very small as she stood outside the large wooden double doors, intimidated by the grandeur of the estate, and several times had to talk herself out of leaving. It was rare that she had the afternoon free, and after all the trouble she had gone through to find and get to this place, she willed herself to do what she had come to do. Nervously, she lifted her hand, and pushed the doorbell, her other hand crushing his business card…and waited.

* * *

She had just gotten her second wind.

As Daphne's feet ran at a steady pace on the treadmill, she hoped to God that her ears were not playing tricks on her. Her chest rose and fell in steady breaths as she pulled the earphones from her ears, waiting and hoping that she had not really heard the disturbing sound of the doorbell. _Why now_, she asked herself. Other than the dark-skinned man with the funny accent, Monsieur Windsor rarely had anyone here. Her fingers were reaching for the incline button on the machine when she heard it again.

"Merde!" she cursed, immediately banging the off button with a frustrated fist. Quick as a whip, she grabbed her uniform, slipping it over her skimpy workout clothing, and pulled the scrunchie loose from her hair.

The door opened slowly, and Christine was taken aback by an attractive blond, roughly her age, who stood before her, panting as she struggled to tie a frilly apron around her ruffled black skirt.

"Can I help you?'

Christine looked around nervously. "Am in the right place?" she began. "Is this the home of Monsieur Windsor?"

"Oui," the maid responded impatiently and out of breath, straightening her bra strap with one hand, and wiping the sweat from her forehead with a tissue.

"Is he here?" Christine asked uncomfortably, her eyes inadvertently falling to the beads of perspiration on the blonde's ample cleavage.

The housekeeper panted heavily, and pulled her blond locks into a ponytail. "Monsieur Windsor can't talk right now," she told the young brunette hastily, hoping that she would just leave.

"Oh," Christine replied, deflated, her mind spinning with images of Derek and this abrupt maid tangled between the sheets. She held tears at bay, suppressing the urge to run from this embarrassing situation, and somehow found the courage to look the maid straight in the eye. She had come all this way. "May I leave a message for him?"

Daphne stood with hands on hips, her breathing finally returning to a normal pattern. "Oui."

"Will you please tell him that Christine was here?"

Both eyebrows rose above the maid's big blue eyes. "You are Christine?"

* * *

"Christine?!" he whispered to Daphne, springing from his bed and ignoring the wobbly feeling in his legs. "My wig!" he mouthed without a voice to speak as he hastily got into his robe.

When the maid stood there looking at him, trying to decipher his actions, Erik gestured to the hair on his head, enunciating the word "wig" with his mouth.

With a look of understanding, she pulled the hairpiece from his closet. "Oui, Monsieur."

Erik smiled his appreciation, heading for the mirror, and combed back his own hair, resolving once more to dye it.

Daphne had no idea whether it was a vanity issue with her boss, or if he was truly trying to disguise himself. She watched as he scrambled around the room, blinking several times as the contact lenses settled in his eyes. The man was incredibly handsome both ways, although, in Daphne's opinion, he was much better looking just the way he was.

Tying the robe tightly around his waist, Erik stopped before his young maid, tugging at the ends of the wig. "How do I look?" he whispered, frustrated with the lack of sound from his mouth.

She said nothing, and only pointed to the absence of hair above his lip. "The doctor said to rest your voice, Monsieur," she told him, feeling very motherly for her nineteen years, and following him now to the restroom as he retrieved his mustache. "You have laryngitis. Do not try to speak."

* * *

She was a sight for sore eyes as she stood in the large foyer, dressed casually in a pair of blue jeans and a red long-sleeved blouse, her profuse curly hair cascading past her shoulders. As out of sorts as Erik still felt, he was determined to do his best not to show it. Smiling, he made his way quickly down to greet her.

He looked slightly pale as he descended the large marble staircase, although still strikingly handsome in a dark blue robe that draped over his pajama bottoms. _Awkward_. Christine could not help feeling that she had made a very big mistake coming here, that she had…interrupted something. "Hheello," she greeted uneasily, as he approached her, his eyes penetrating hers.

Erik nodded once, his lips still smiling at the vision of loveliness before him, right here, in his very home.

Christine wrung her fingers together nervously, as his eyes never left hers. "You haven't been to the opera house. I was wondering if…" she began, feeling very foolish, "I thought that maybe you were…" Before she could say one more word, Erik gestured for her to follow him.

He opened the double doors, and held out his arm to her, gesturing her inside. She stepped in, her breath taken away by the enormity of the music room, by the shiny black grand piano that sat right in the center, the various instruments and art pieces that decorated the walls. There was an impressive echo from the sound of her heels as she walked upon the room's marble flooring.

As she admired the interior, Erik rushed to the piano stand, shuffling about for blank paper and pencil. Quickly he gestured for her to join him and they sat side by side on the piano bench as Erik put a word on paper in capitals, underlining it.

Christine eyed the writing on the blank sheet and read aloud, "FLU…" she stopped and looked to him sympathetically. "Oh, Derek, are you okay?" She wanted to reach out to him and make him feel better.

Nodding, Erik reached for the paper again, and scrawled his message.

"Better now, lost voice," Christine read. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she replied, her face showing relief that that was the reason he had stayed away. "I didn't know. I was worried."

A smirk settled on Erik's lips as he put the pencil to paper once again. "Did you miss me?"

As Christine opened her mouth to reply to this bold question, a knock at the door interrupted her, and Daphne brought a tray with two cups of steaming liquid. The young maid handed him his cup, and told him curtly to drink it, and then turned to the pretty brunette. Christine accepted the other cup with a grateful smile.

"Is this tea?" Christine asked.

"No, hot apple cider," Daphne replied and turned her eyes to Erik. "Do you need anything else?" When Erik shook his head, sipping from his cup, she spoke again, "Okay, I go now back to my running." And with that, she quickly exited the room, closing the doors behind her.

_Running_. Ohhhh, Christine thought, embarrassed for her sinful assumptions. A smile now lit up her face and she looked to the man beside her with bright eyes and answered. "Yes, very much."

Confused, Erik looked at her with a blank expression, when Christine pointed to the question that he had just asked. _Did you miss me?_

A feeling of warmth filled his body as he considered her words…and the way she had said them…and he set his cup down and prepared to write again.

Christine's attention fell to the music on the stand. "Don Juan Triumphant," she read. "Is this your latest piece?"

Erik nodded, giving her an uncertain expression, and scribbled one word.

Her eyes opened wide as she read it and clapped. "Oooh, it's an opera! May I read it?"

Shaking his head, he wrote again. "Mess… unfinished…"

"Please! Please, Derek, I would love to see it, and hear what you have so far…"

Cursing himself, he wished he had thrown it in the fire when he had the chance, and now _she_ was here, and she wanted to see it, and with those big brown eyes looking up into him pleadingly, how could he refuse? He scribbled on the paper again. "Can't sing now." He put his hand on his throat for emphasis with one last small hope she would change her mind.

But she didn't.

At this she smiled, and looked back at him, "But, I can."

* * *

A/N: Wow, two updates in one week! I just so happen to be a little ahead :) After this, the updates will come weekly as usual. As far as the first part, more will be revealed later. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing. I love your feedback, so please keep it coming!


	18. Words Run Dry

Disclaimer: The lyrics contained in this chapter are not mine.

**CHAPTER 18- Words Run Dry**

"You have brought me

to that moment when words run dry,

to that moment when speech disappears into silence, silence."

He had always imagined what it would be like if Christine sang the music from his opera. He had always known that the beauty of her voice would beckon to his heart and soul. What he hadn't realized, though, was that the reality of it would transcend any pleasure that he had ever experienced, that her voice would be sweeter, and more glorious. As his fingers drew the accompaniment from the piano, he was awestruck by the young woman who sat beside him.

Erik was amazed how she filled him up so completely, as he occasionally glanced at the beauty beside him who was giving voice to the words on the page.

"I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why,

In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining,

Defenseless and silent."

She stole a glance back at him, he noticed, as she sang those words, his words, and other than her unreadable expression, it appeared that her lips held a faint smirk…

"And now I'm here with you, no second thoughts,

I've decided, decided…"

And there was something very erotic about the blush that came about her cheeks as she sang them…Her eyes stayed fixed on the weathered sheet music before her, and as his ears treasured the melody and life Christine's voice gave to his opera, he wished that he could tell what she was thinking. He had been apprehensive at first about allowing her to see it, fearing the unveiling of this very private part of himself, and now he could only ponder what a joy it would be to have Christine be the very heroine his mind had given birth to. For the very first time, he actually considered publishing this work, if he was able to finish it with his sanity intact.

The bliss of her voice was like the ultimate aphrodisiac, and as she continued to sing the provocative lyrics, Erik longed to accompany her in song, cursing his laryngitis.

"How long should we two wait until we're one,

When will the blood begin to race,

The sleeping bud burst into bloom,

When will the flames at last consume us?"

Her small hand reached to turn the page, her chest noticeably rising and falling in anticipation, but when her fingers touched the corner, the worn, wrinkled pages slid from the stand, spilling over the keys and dropping to the floor.

"Oh! Sorry!" Christine exclaimed, a nervous giggle escaping her lips, and simultaneously two pairs of hands reached for the scattered pages, awkwardly gripping the runaway sheets with desperate fingers. Erik reached forward under the piano and Christine bent over and reached backward behind the bench, continuing to apologize. After collecting the mess of papers, she snapped back up into an upright position, her thick mane of hair whipping him across his face.

"Oh God, I am such a klutz! I'm sorry!" she repeated, transferring the pages in her grasp back to the piano stand, and now hastily moving her hand to Erik's cheek with much more force than she intended…resulting in a slap.

In truth, he didn't mind; it was accidental, and clearly she was horrified by her own clumsiness. Erik simply basked in the welcome contact of her hand, until she tore it away and hid her face in her palms, prompting a loud plunk against the keys from her elbows.

"I am so sorry, Derek. I think I just got a little excited about the music."

A burst of coughs emerged from his throat, and he covered his mouth with his sleeve._ Excited…music_…those were two words that Erik had definitely liked hearing…though, he might have liked it better had they not been used within the same sentence… He tapped her on her shoulder, resisting the temptation to take the abashed ingénue into his arms.

She looked up finally, horribly embarrassed, and met the warmth of his eyes, watching as he nodded and found another blank piece of paper. He wrote quickly, mouthing the words "it's o. k." as he wrote them.

A smile soon took over her face and Christine sat up straight. "So, may I continue?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Erik wrote again, "That's it. No more."

"Oh," she replied, and the former phantom was completely charmed by the look of disappointment on her face.

He couldn't help it. Erik had to know, and scribbled one word on the paper. "Well?"

Her gaze met the ceiling thoughtfully, then turned to meet his. "It was brilliant and passionate." _Like you, _she thought_._ "Seductive…" _Like your eyes._ "Daring…" _The way I feel when I'm with you_.

Erik was impressed…and relieved that another human had found the insanity that was his opera appealing. But then the young woman beside him was suddenly overcome by giggles.

"And funny."

Not sure if he heard her correctly, he gave her a questioning look, mouthing the word "funny."

Christine's eyes opened wide, and her giggles ceased immediately. "Wasn't it _supposed _to be funny?"

_No! _At that moment, Erik was overcome by another fit of coughs. But Erik could not stand to make her feel bad about her judgment, and forcing a smile, he nodded, trying to keep his germs to himself.

"I knew it! I mean, Don Juan has got to be kidding himself. He thinks that Aminta is going to fall for him "disguising" himself as the servant, Passarino, using a hat and cloak, but come on!"

With extreme interest, Erik listened carefully to Christine's explanation.

"Aminta may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but still if she can't tell the difference between the two men, then there is something wrong with that girl, even if she was to be tempted with wine, it would not be that difficult to tell the difference from one man to the next! It reminds me of Superman and Clark Kent. Any fool could see they are the same person."

_Oh, the irony, _the amnesiac thought.

"No, no, wait a minute. Do you know what I think will happen?" she asked, her brown eyes bright as she spoke.

Oh, he could not wait to hear this…

"Now that I think about it, maybe Aminta is _not_ the innocent maiden she seems, and…" She stopped to take a breath, clearly on a roll, "Maybe _she_ is the one who does the seducing, and Don Juan will lose his heart to her…and his fortune…Right?"

His brows rose in surprise as he considered her conclusion. _It could work…_Erik shrugged his shoulders in reply, then with furrowed eyebrows turned back to the sheet of paper, writing again.

"What is funny?" she read. "Well, as I imagine it," she began thoughtfully, "everyone is in on Don Juan's plan, but I think that it is Aminta who gets the last laugh."

_Don Juan Triumphant…a dramedy…who would've thought?_ He had to admit he did like the change of tone she was suggesting; it definitely veered away from the dark, disturbing drama he had begun. _Hmmmm._

A low beeping sound jarred them from their thoughts, and Christine looked at her watch, pressing down on the tiny alarm button. Her eyes met his with regret. "I have to leave. Dance rehearsal starts in an hour."

If he could have, he would have paid dearly for her to stay, but by now the former opera ghost was familiar with the rigid working conditions of the Opera Populaire, and if Christine sought a chance to become the star one day, she had to endure their rigorous schedule.

"I'm happy you are feeling better," she told him, rising from the bench. "I hope to see you back at the opera house soon."

Nodding, Erik opened his mouth to speak, emitting a croak, then grabbed the pen once more and scribbled another message.

"I love that you came here," she read, watching as he coughed, covering his mouth with his sleeve once again. Maybe it was how adorable he looked in his robe and jammies, or the look of sheer disappointment in his face that she had to go, but Christine boldly followed her impulse to throw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

It took him by surprise. Out of nowhere he suddenly had this woman in his arms. And she felt…heavenly within his grasp. His fingers could hardly help stroking her auburn locks. If not for his stuffed-up nose, he would have loved to breathe her in and savor her.

How he wished he could speak at that moment.

Christine's grip was tight around his back, and as held her this way, he wondered if he had his voice if he would have the courage to tell her how he felt about her…or heaven forbid, confess to her who he really was… Erik loosened his own grip, pulling away from her, setting his hand on the softness of her cheek. Losing himself in the warm depths of her eyes, he was tempted to do the unthinkable. His heart was thumping in his chest, and she set her hand on top of his with an aching gentleness. Slowly, he moved his fingers to the edge of his thin, honey-colored mustache, but before he could rip it off, Christine's eyes widened in surprise.

"I know you," she said.

Erik's hand dropped down to his side and his blood froze in his body as his eyes found the look of shock on her face.

"I remember now! Finally."

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Erik prepared himself for the worst.

_Whatever will be, will be_.

"We danced…at the masquerade."

It was kind of a relief and a disappointment all at the same time. He had to wonder, what would he do if after revealing his true identity, and with all of their past history, Christine rejected him? He just wasn't sure how he could live with that. Maybe for now, he would relish the possibilities…the possibility that she was attracted to him, and that what Raoul had told him about her had been nothing but a vicious rumor. A smile appeared on his lips and he nodded.

"I'm not a lesbian," she told him, savoring the feel of his hand on her cheek, finding courage as he now wrapped his other arm around her. Their faces were inches apart and her eyes were locked with his. Christine nearly felt ready to bear her soul. "I don't know where you heard that, Derek," she whispered, her body shaking slightly in reaction to his nearness. Doubts and reason seemed to have flown right out the window. Leaning slowly upward, closer to his face, she rose to meet the promise of those seductive lips… "It's... not... true," she murmured, wishing that this moment could last forever, his arms holding her body in a tender embrace, and just when their lips were a breath apart, Erik placed his hand over his mouth to block her.

At first, she was taken aback by what felt like a rejection, but as Erik began yet another coughing fit, she understood. He made his way back to the piano, taking a piece of paper, and urgently scribbled a note.

He felt wretched; refusing her kiss, and depriving himself of something his heart had longed for what he was sure, was a very long time. Nevertheless, her health came first.

Christine's watch alarm sounded once again, and she bit her lip, mentally cursing the opera house, Erik's flu, and the world. But before she could speak another word, Erik brought her his message.

_Contagious…now. Wait for me._

* * *

Humming, Christine felt as light as air, making her way through the Opera Populaire. She stood before Meg's door, nearly bubbling over with excitement to share her news. But to her dismay, the door was locked. _Odd_. Christine knocked loudly and called out to her friend, but received no response. Meg rarely locked her door. And still calling out to her would be sister, Christine exercised no hesitation from pulling keys from her pocket and letting herself in. As she entered, she could hear the pounding of water from the shower, and unexpectedly, singing.

"Think of me, think of me fondly,

When we've said goodbye,

Remember me, once in awhile,

Please promise me you'll try…"

Speechless, Christine stood outside the bathroom door, listening as her best friend continued to sing the familiar song.

For all the years that she had known the blonde dancer, Christine had never known Meg's voice to sound so…perfect, so mesmeric, so utterly beautiful that it took her breath away. In addition to Carlotta, Meg may have served as a credible rival- the sweet softness of her voice displayed a strong talent that Christine had never been aware of. She had sung in the chorus, it was true, but Meg never showed any desire to sing a solo, or even karaoke for that matter.

The water shut off, and Christine could hear the squeaking from the shower door, and still only stood there in silence, dumbstruck by what she had just heard. Meg opened the door to the bathroom tucking the towel over her chest.

"Christine!" Meg exclaimed, surprised by her friend's sudden appearance. "I didn't know you were here."

For a moment, Christine felt like she did not know this woman at all. "And I didn't know you could sing like that."

* * *

A/N: A huge thanks to each and every one of you who have left feedback- I love you all and appreciate it so much! More to come later...Thanks for reading, and as always, please leave a review :)


	19. Contagious

**CHAPTER 19- Contagious**

"_I don't want to do this anymore." _

_Erik sighed, trying not to let his frustration become apparent in his voice. "__Please, just listen to me. You have a wonderful talent. Practicing your scales will enhance the quality of your singing…"_

_The ten-year-old turned away from him, tears welling in her eyes. "It's no use!" she shouted._

_His eyes opened wide in response. He had never heard the girl so much as raise her voice before, and now it appeared that she was pouting. She had such a voice…Erik knew once he heard her singing in the chapel that she was something special, and had dedicated much effort for more than a year and a half training her. As of late, she seemed distracted and uninterested._

"_All you need is practice," he told her gently, "and to believe in yourself." With a sigh he closed the lid to the piano. "That's enough for today."_

_In silence, they walked to the passageway leading to the dormitory, and with wide eyes the young one turned to her masked tutor. "Do you believe in me, Erik?"_

_He was taken by the vulnerable look on her face, and grasped her small hand in his. "Of course I…"_

_The sound of voices interrupted him. The two stood silently, listening at the wall. Immediately, Erik recognized Antoinette's voice. She would not be pleased if she found out about their private lessons, he knew, but then there was another voice, a little girl's._

_Squeezing her hand, he led her just a little ways further where a large framed picture covered a hole in the wall, and as his finger cleared their view, they eyed a girl of about eight years, her long, dark, curly locks hanging down to the middle of her back. She wore a black dress, and her expression was so devastatingly sad…_

"_Who is that, Erik?" _

_With great curiosity, the masked man's gaze studied the child Antoinette was trying to console, "I don't know." The girl held a suitcase in her hand. "I just don't know, Meg."_

* * *

It had been two days since Christine had paid him a visit at his estate, and everyone, especially the young ingénue, was glad to have him back at the Opera House. With hand sanitizer and Lysol sitting atop the piano, Erik happily resumed his duties with his eager pupil, stopping now and then to cough…still, and feeling much more confident now that he had finally dyed his hair to match the wig.

The alarm from Christine's watch sounded, signaling the end of their lesson, and shutting it off, she made her way to Erik at the piano, pleased that Monsieur Reyer had not joined them this time. Other than the customary shuffling about on and offstage of the stagehands, they were, for the most part, alone.

"I see you're feeling better, Derek," Christine stated with an obvious smile.

Erik rose from the piano bench, smiling back at the flirtatious beauty before him. "I am."

He took the hand sanitizer and squeezed some onto her now open palm, and onto his own.

"It's wonderful to have you back," she said, rubbing the gel into her hands.

"Thank you, Christine," he croaked, and cleared his throat, willing his voice to return. "It's wonderful to be back," he said, his voice just above a whisper.

There was a sort of awkward silence that fell over them, and once he finished rubbing the sanitizer into his hands, he picked up the can of Lysol to spray the piano keys.

It took all of Christine's nerve to voice her thoughts. "So…now that you're better, I was thinking, that…" Her face was becoming red as she continued, "that maybe… remember the secret passageway?"

"I do."

Her eyes darted around nervously, hoping that no one was within earshot. "Well, maybe, you could…come see me…and…"

"And kiss you?" he whispered with a devilish smile, placing the cap back on the spray can. If he could have, he would have loved to kiss her right then and there.

"Well," she replied, now obviously blushing. "That would be okay."

Sighing, Erik wanted to take her into his arms. "As much as I want to, it's not a good idea…not yet…it's too soon."

Her face fell in disappointment and the annoying beeping from the alarm went off again. And as Christine pressed the button to shut it off, she wanted to remove the blasted timekeeper from her wrist and stomp on it with her feet. "What's the matter, Derek?" she asked, summoning all of her gumption, "don't you trust me?"

From his mouth, emerged a rich, amused laugh. "No, my sweet," he replied, meeting the daring expression in her large brown eyes, "It is myself I do not trust."

* * *

The next day...

"How about today?"

He was completely charmed by her eagerness, cursing his hated germs, as he once again sprayed the keys of the piano. "I'm afraid not," he said, his voice normal as he spoke.

Her eyes opened wide, and she squirted some sanitizer into her palms. "Why not?!" she asked, frustrated. "You are fine!"

Looking around, Erik was surprised to find that they were completely alone, and took her sanitized hand in his. "I still have a bit of a cough."

"Barely," she complained. "Derek, you can't still be contagious."

"This virus is the worst that Paris has ever seen, Christine. It's all over the news. Not only that, I think that while I was sick that I may have picked up another strain. This morning, I accidentally sneezed on my fern, and it wilted immediately."

Erik moved his hand to the soft skin of her cheek, his thumb stroking her chin, wanting to press his lips to every inch of her lovely face. "Please, it's killing me too. Let's not take chances." He took the sanitizer once again and squirted some more into her palms.

This time, he set the bottle down onto the piano, and took Christine into his arms. "Wait for me," he whispered.

Christine soon found consolation in his warm bear hug, allowing herself to melt into his embrace…and then the beeping of her alarm sounded once again.

* * *

The next day…again...

Carlotta's shrill voice was giving everyone a headache around them, shouting her grievances to a bumbling Monsieur Firmin offstage. Christine and Erik had to move closer together to hear one another.

"Now, are you okay?! Tonight can you come see me?" she whispered.

A small cough escaped him, and he looked to the lovely brunette before him, her brown eyes plagued with disappointment. "I'm sorry."

Christine's head fell backward in disbelief. "Oh come on! You are fine! You look…great…" _Well, more than great actually_. "Your voice is perfect…" _And you smell so good._ "And your cough is nearly gone." _And I'm dying here!_

Erik shook his head.

"Okay, but listen, I had a flu shot yesterday," she said desperately, with still a glimmer of hope. "Also, I've been taking zinc supplements, and today I ate two oranges," she stated, holding up two fingers for emphasis.

"And I weel call my lawyer," Carlotta ranted, "and I weel sue everyone here een thees opera house!"

They could hear the hushed voice of the manager, and Erik sighed, blocking out the irritating noise of the vixen's rants.

Erik too, was tired of waiting to kiss Christine. It seemed as though he had already waited an eternity. How he longed to take her in his arms, and feel the softness of her lips on his… Taking the can of Lysol in his hand, he sprayed the piano keys. "I'll tell you what," he said thoughtfully and replaced the cap. "We will test your theory, and if I'm not contagious, then I will be more than happy to…"

"Kiss me?" she asked eagerly, all shyness gone out the window. At this point, Christine wondered what was more exciting, the anticipation of it, or the actual kiss. She hoped it would be the latter. Happy to see him nodding for once, she continued, "Alright, so, what's the plan?"

"You make-a de money, because- a _me_!" Carlotta squawked from backstage. "Not da steek. They pay to see _me_! You NEED to LEESTEN to ME!!"

Rolling her eyes, Christine shook her head, wondering if and when the brutish woman's contract would ever be up.

For the first time, the racket of the diva's tirade was like music to Erik's ears. "I have an idea," he whispered.

Christine didn't even have to hear it. "I'll get Carlotta's water bottle."

* * *

"So, then, do you want to meet me tonight after the show?" she asked anxiously, her elbows leaning on top of the piano, rolling her hair around her fingers. Unconcerned, she watched Erik take a drink from the water bottle. Her mind was on one thing and one thing only…that kiss…

"No, we'll see tomorrow, and sometimes it can take up to two days to see symptoms," he said, twisting the cap back onto the devil woman's Acqua Panna.

"But, but, Derek," she protested, "in that time you may not be contagious anyway."

"Or will I?" he asked. "Let's just wait and see, okay?"

With a sigh, she agreed, taking the bottle of Italian water from his hand, "But, I'm telling you, we're waiting for no reason. You may have had the "superflu", but you're fine now, and Carlotta is going to be just fine. You'll see."

* * *

It didn't take two days. In fact, it didn't even take one, as throughout that evening's performance, Carlotta kept clearing her throat, and whining about its soreness backstage. During intermission, she polished off the contents of her water bottle in an attempt to quell the irritation. After the second act, she was clearly sweating, struggling to get through the rest of the opera. By curtain call, her face had turned pale and Piangi had to hold onto her to take her bows.

Backstage, Christine stood, wringing her fingers, and her brows furrowed in concern. Guilty as sin, she bit her lip, watching as Piangi and the managers carried the afflicted prima donna out to a taxi like a wounded animal.

And Christine felt like she wanted to vomit from the shame festering in her stomach, as Firmin and Andre took her into their office, instructing the young woman that she would replace Carlotta until the diva was ready to return.

* * *

For the first few days she felt very guilty, but soon noticed that it was as though a rain cloud had been lifted from the opera house. The sun was shining through the bright windows, the birds were chirping, and what was really surprising were the smiles on the managers' faces. The stagehands were cheery, and in general the whole company was in a better mood. As ill as Carlotta had become, no one expected her back for at least two weeks…or more. And everyday, Erik was there to tutor Christine, and lend his encouragement as she dutifully performed the lead.

Every night, Erik assumed his seat in box five, reveling in Christine's performances. He took notes as he watched, always seeking to improve. She never disappointed him, and each night he was in awe of the sweet glow of their successes. This night, his pupil had done exceptionally well, drawing a thunderous applause from the crowd, and after curtain call, with red roses in hand, he stole to the hallway that led to the secret passageway.

_It had to be tonight_.

His heart was bursting with pride, and dare he think it…with love. Who was he kidding, he thought. Erik loved her before he even knew that he loved her. He could still recall how taken he was by the doll in the lair…Now, as he reached the two-way mirror, he peeked in. Christine entered, her chest noticeably rising in anticipation, her eyes darting toward the mirror. _She was waiting for him._

As much as he wanted to pass through and grab the young woman and kiss her, he thought instead to savor the moment. There she was, his sweet Christine, her cheeks tinged with pink, her brown eyes sparkling, and her lips were glossy and kissable.

"Derek," she breathed, as he made his way through the secret entrance. "You're here."

"I'm here," he said, stepping towards the beauty, his eyes taking in her gown alight with sequins. _She was beautiful_. He handed her the arrangement of roses.

Her nose inhaled the fragrance, and her eyes locked with his. "Does this mean…" she asked, suddenly feeling a little shy as the devastatingly handsome tuxedo-clad gentleman stood before her, his face now inches away from hers.

A soft smile curved at his lips, and Erik nodded, but in a sudden unexpected motion, his head fell backward, his mouth opened as if to sneeze, and with a mix of horror and disappointment, Christine just stared.

But then, he looked to her with a sneaky smile, "Gotcha!"

* * *

A/N: Okay, now that was a particularly evil cliffy- sorry! (slaps hand) Bad authoress! Since I'm still somewhat ahead, I figured I'd post another chapter today, but the next one will have to wait. Stay tuned...and please review!!


	20. Gotcha!

**Chapter 20- GOTCHA!**

"Gotcha!"

She just stared at him with her mouth wide open, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Had he really just _faked_ a sneeze?

"That wasn't funny," she informed him, depositing the floral arrangement sharply on the dresser beside her.

Erik sensed that his sense of humor might be lost on this young woman, the object of his obsession. Perhaps, at this ridiculously crucial moment, it may have not been the best timing… He could see the grief-stricken look on her face, and regret filled his entire body as his dream girl turned away from him, folding her arms across her chest.

"I'm sorry, Christine…I'll be serious."

Christine heaved a long sigh. "No, the mood's gone."

Those words stung like a slap in the face, and he wanted to kick himself with steel-toed shoes.

"I think you should go," she said bitterly.

"Seriously?" he asked her, his heart sinking. It had only been a joke, and now she wanted him to leave. After all the days of angst and frustration, Erik could not believe it, but her silence filled the room as loudly as the pounding of a drum, so, with a sigh, he slowly turned to leave. "Very well, then. I apologize again, Christine. Good night."

Just as he reached the mirror, Christine spun around, barely able to contain her giggles. "Gotcha!" she shouted, pointing her finger at him.

His heart began pounding, and now he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Luckily, the music of her infectious laughter tickled his ribs, and the two stood there facing each other, laughing like two children on a playground. "Oh," he said, chuckling and shaking his head, "Christine…"

She reminded him of a little girl, jumping up and down, giggling so much she could hardly breathe. "Oh…Derek," she managed to get out, and once their laughter finally subsided, she stepped toward him, and Erik, in turn moved toward the young beauty.

As they stood before each other, their eyes locked once more. Erik tenderly set his hand upon the smoothness of her cheek. But before he could move any closer, a new smile appeared on her face, which prompted another fit of giggles. Covering her mouth, she tried to suppress the laughter, and to her dismay her handsome tutor's hand fell back down to his side, his expression now serious. He backed away from her in frustration.

"I'm…sorry, Derek. Come back here," she told him lightheartedly, gesturing him back. "Let's try this again."

"The mood's gone."

He was right. She still felt that at any moment her giggles may return. This was not going at all how she had hoped. After catching her breath, Christine approached his tall figure, setting her small hands on his broad shoulders, and turning him around.

"I might be able to fix that. Just… don't look at me. Okay?" she requested, for the moment, wanting to avoid his steely gaze. _Not yet_.

"Christine," he protested, facing away from her, not amused by the humor that had overwhelmed the evening.

"Bup, bup!" she silenced, with one hand up, and cleared her throat, surprised by her own boldness. Christine was determined, though. She was a woman on a mission.

With no idea what the little minx was up to, Erik decided he might as well play along. Even though things were not going as he had hoped, he was still there with his Christine…in her room. How many times had he dreamt of it? And, at that moment, the heaven of her voice filled his senses.

"You have brought me, to that moment when words run dry," she sang, her eyes closed, summoning his lyrics from memory. "To that moment when speech disappears into silence, silence."

His eyes closed also, involuntarily, allowing her hypnotic timbre to penetrate every pore, to flow through his veins, to fill his heart.

"I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why," she continued, now moving toward him, her hand seeking the muscles of his back.

Erik drew a breath at the surprise of her contact, intoxicated by her voice as she sang…intoxicated by her…

"In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent…" Christine braced his large frame, pressing herself up against him teasingly, leaning her cheek to the black fabric of his tuxedo. "And now I'm here with you…no second thoughts…"

Captivated by the sheer eroticism of the moment, Erik found his pulse was racing from the sensuality of her body against his back, and as he listened to her sing his words, he could imagine how tantalizing her naked body would look, how silky soft her skin would feel…

"I've decided…" Her voice was husky now, and her fingers stroked the soft locks of his sandy brown hair, lifting herself up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. "Decided."

That was it. In one smooth motion Erik spun around, taking the temptress into his arms. His lips met hers with a fiery urgency, drawing that breath of satisfaction that comes from being deprived of pleasure, deprived of happiness for an eternity, and finally finding peace here right now, within the sweetness of her lips.

Christine lost herself quickly within his kiss, and as she welcomed the visit from his tongue, she realized that she had not really ever known what passion was…until this thrilling moment. Of their own accord, her fingers ran across his face, treasuring his touch as he held her tightly against him, loving the rigidity of his body against hers. She felt that for all of her twenty years, she had been asleep and going through the motions of living, but, here, and now in Derek's embrace, Christine was awake…and hungrily her fingers sought his tie, untying it quickly, and throwing it to the floor, seeking to release his neck from its bindings.

Enveloped within the paradise of her warmth, Erik's lips crept toward the creamy skin of her jaw line, inhaling her sweet fragrance. He ran a trail of baby kisses along her neck, delighting in the soft moans that escaped her, his mind in tune with her every breath, every beat of her heart. To his surprise, her fingers undid the buttons of his jacket and ripped the studs from his shirt, seeking his bare torso underneath and curling her delicate fingers within the dark hairs of his chest. Her every touch, every caress, every brush of her lips and tongue brought him closer to paradise. But it was his undoing as her other hand reached his and moved it slowly downward to the curve of her slim hips above her dress, lingering there for just a moment… and then to her shapely posterior…Erik was sure he was either about to die or was going to wake up at any moment.

Her lips sought his once again, and she quickly divested Erik of his shirt and jacket, letting them fall carelessly to the floor, her heart pounding a hundred miles an hour. She had no idea where her courage had come from, but her body boldly begged her to move onward, her fingers dancing across the ridges of his chest, and then caressing the firm muscles of his back…

Surely this had to be the most glorious moment of his life as Christine's hands played about his upper body, reveling in the deliciousness of her curious touch. In this dance, clearly, she was leading, and one hand was quick to move his to the zipper on the back of her dress, while her other found the button of his pants as she backed him up towards her bed.

His fingers lingered about her zipper, caressing the smooth flesh of her upper back. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, gazing into her glistening brown eyes, alight with desire that mirrored his own. Every inch of her was woman, but in those vulnerable eyes, he saw a girl, a girl whose voice had possessed him completely, whose soul had reached out to him, whose kiss could bring him to his knees.

There was no reply, as he stilled her hand that struggled with the button of his pants, and his other hand gently cupped her chin, leaning it upward to meet his gaze.

"God, you are beautiful, Christine," he breathed, stroking the curly sparkles of her auburn locks. "And once I have you in my arms, I'll never be able to let you go," he confessed, studying her expression carefully, looking for the least bit of doubt in those bewitching dark pools. "There will be no turning back," he warned softly, moving his hand back to the porcelain of her cheek. "And nothing between us will ever be the same."

Christine stared up at him for what seemed an eternity, a warm blush caressing her cheeks as she smiled. "Promise?"

Tenderly he smiled back, his heart overflowing, and nodded his reply. His fingers took to her zipper, and his lips eagerly found hers once again…

* * *

A/N: Ahem, well, this is rated T after all, and you can use your imagination as to what happens next... I realize that it took forever to get to this point. Hope that you enjoyed it, and can't wait to hear what you think!


	21. Of Nightmares and Memories

A/N**: **Thanks for your feedback! I love hearing from you! Some liberties were taken with this chapter. As we work toward the final chapters, more will be revealed so please hang in there with me, and indulge me with your reviews :)

Disclaimer: I do not own the song lyrics, or original POTO characters.

**CHAPTER 21- Of Nightmares and Memories**

"_Say you need me with you, here beside you, anywhere you go, let me go, too." The man was sunshine himself as he stood there on the rooftop, his pitch__ perfect, his words so tender. Dashing and love struck, my Raoul sang, as the snow drifted lightly upon the thick golden braids of his Russian soldier costume. His hand felt surprisingly warm on such a cold Paris night, but as he set it upon my face, I was instantly heated by his touch. "Christine, that's all I ask of you."_

"_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Say the word and I will follow you," I sang in return._

_Our voices merged together sweet and savory like hot cocoa and marshmallows, and with the comfort of his arms around my body, I lifted my voice to the heavens, meeting those brown puppy eyes, setting my hands upon the strands of his perfect golden hair. "Share each day with me, each night, each morning..."_

_I looked into that handsome face, vulnerable as I sang these next words to him, "Say you love me…"_

_He smiled, reassuring me with his song, "You know I do."_

_And in perfect harmony, our voices joined once again, "Love me, that's all I ask of you…"_

_Raoul pressed his lips to mine lovingly, and caught up in the moment, I responded to his kiss, but then as he pulled away from me, his eyes were filled with horror, and in a fit of rage, he pulled off my wig, and tore the mustache from my face…_

It was a nightmare, and Erik sat up in bed, his heart pounding. Realizing he had just dreamt that he was Christine, he shook his head furiously, trying to deny that even though it was a dream, he had just kissed …

No, Erik would not allow himself to think it anymore. His body was overcome by shakes, desperately trying to rid his mind of the feel of that boy's lips-

"Derek," she whispered sleepily, placing a small hand on Erik's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Barely half awake, his eyes glanced to the sleepy beauty beside him, "I'm fine, Christine," he assured, laying his hand over hers. "Go back to sleep."

She mumbled something that sounded like "alright", and Erik gradually resumed lying down, scooting up against the back of her soft, warm body. As disturbing as the nightmare was, Erik soon found solace in their intimate embrace, draping his leg over hers, and caressing her hair with gentle fingers. It had been some time since he had given any serious thought to that ridiculous vicomte, and now, out of spite, it seemed the former opera ghost was now being haunted by his lover's former fiancée, in the very worst way imaginable…unless there was something more to this dream. A yawn overtook him as he settled back into cuddle mode with his Christine, nestling his face in her curly locks, breathing in the sweet lavender fragrance of her hair…

Surely, there was no man luckier than he. In the heat of passion, this deliriously beautiful woman beside him had admitted that she loved him. And though reason stated that it should not be so, as young as she was, and as wretched of a soul he was, with his memory still incomplete, he felt loved. Without a doubt, he knew that his heart was lost to this woman. He had been afraid to tell her so, and now his eyes began to well at the thought.

He took the coward's way out. "I love you, Christine," he whispered in her ear as she slept. A soft sigh emerged from her lips, and Erik was taken by the tempting curve of her derriere as she backed herself closer into him, the thin fabric of her nightie riding well up above her hips. _Raoul, Schmaoul_, he thought dismissively, his body already enticed by her silky flesh. _She's mine_, he told himself, becoming more and more aroused by the second as he recalled how luscious her body was as he had made love to her again and again. Or how alluring her voice was when she had called out his name…

It was getting close to dawn, and the contact lenses were uncomfortably dry in his eyes. And though the last thing Erik wanted was to leave her cozy bed, he knew he could not stay and risk being seen, possibly jeopardizing the relationship with the managers, or even worse, Antoinette, who had not been too impressed by his last exit. No, this time he could not take any chances, and was determined to use his knowledge of the countless secret passageways, and one specifically that would lead to the outside of the opera house.

Grudgingly, he removed himself from the warmth of her body, and sat up in bed, sighing, and rubbed his dry eyes. Erik dressed quickly, and set a kiss upon his angel's cheek, whispering a quick "I love you." But as he stepped through the mirror, she stirred, and rolled over to face him, her eyes still closed.

And then she spoke, "I love you too, Erik."

His feet stopped abruptly, and he turned to face her, his heart in his throat. _Did she just say what I thought she said? Erik? _But, when he whispered her name once again, he could only hear the easy breathing of the young woman, a peaceful goddess as she slept. _It couldn't be_, he thought, and made his way out to the passageway.

* * *

Later that afternoon…

"Tell me about this dream."

Erik sighed, his blue eyes looking toward the ceiling, his entire body filling with dread. "Since the fever, I have had some disturbing nightmares, but this one…"

There was the sound of scribbling on paper.

"Go on."

"Well, there was singing up on the rooftop of the Opera Populaire…"

"Who was singing?"

"This ridiculous boy, Christine's ex-fiancée and… I," Erik cleared his throat.

"You and Christine's ex-fiancée were singing…"

More scribbling.

"But that wasn't all," he admitted, feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden. After all, it was just a dream, and he hated that he couldn't rid himself of the tender warmth of the vicomte's lips, and began shaking again.

"Please, go on."

Erik sat up on the couch, and stood up so fast that he felt lightheaded. "Never mind."

"Please. The only way to make progress is to talk…"

"That's enough for today," Erik responded, and left as quickly as he possibly could.

* * *

The following night…

"You know what bothers me most?" Christine asked, leaning her face on her palm as she spoke to her lover. "Meg and I are like sisters, and for as long as I've known her I had no idea she could sing like that."

"How did she respond?" he asked curiously.

"She said that it was no big deal, and that she sings only for her own enjoyment, but I think that she is full of it!"

Erik leaned his elbow upon the pillow, amused by her story. "So, you never had a clue? Even though she sings in the chorus?"

Shaking her head, she met his warm, seductive hazel eyes. "Her voice blended in with all the others. Meg was never showy with her voice like a lot of the chorus girls are, yet she apparently has every reason to be. I almost felt…envious."

"That's ridiculous," Erik laughed, allowing a long slender finger to move a stray lock from her eye.

"You should hear her sing…"

He didn't hear any more of her words, as his mind was suddenly struck with recall; a small glimpse of his past hit him as fierce as lightning. _Meg. Oh God, Meg._ It was like recalling a long forgotten memory, only now it came to him with brilliant clarity. "I'm sure she has her reasons," he offered quietly.

In fact, Erik knew exactly why Meg had not pursued singing. Troubled by the situation, Christine continued to chatter on, but as Erik lay there beside her, he could not focus on her words. Here in the Opera Populaire, the blonde ballerina had always been held back; by the managers, and by her own mother. And the former opera ghost was now determined to do something about it.

* * *

"_How long has this been going on, Erik?" Meg demanded. _

_He avoided her eyes. "You're early, Meg, practice doesn't begin for two more hours."_

"_How long?"_

_Erik scribbled some notes on his sheet music, avoiding her question. _

"_Christine just sang "Think of Me" to perfection for the new managers. You've been tutoring her, haven't you?" It was so suspicious the way her mother had volunteered the young chorus girl to substitute for Carlotta. Meg could still recall her mother's words: "Let her sing for you, Monsieur. She has been well taught." Meg had her answer as the opera ghost remained silent. For as long as she had known him__,__ whenever the masked man had something to say, he never failed to articulate, yet now he went on about his business as though she weren't even there._

"_How long has this been going on, Erik?" _

_She felt as though she were talking to a wall, but his body language was revealing volumes as he tossed that sheet __away__, and began a new one. "That long, huh? I'm guessing that you come to her at night, and that she does not even know who you are."_

"_Of course she knows me," he said gruffly, still focusing on his sheet music._

"_She thinks that you are some angel of music her father sent."_

_He sat up straight on his piano bench, his blue eyes cold as he faced her. "Her time is not affecting your time, Meg, so I really don't see what the problem is."_

"_She thinks you are an angel. Christine has no idea who you really are, and I think that if you continue this way, that it will hurt her if she should find out the truth." Meg was ashamed that she was jealous of Christine, and her abilities. It was unheard of for a chorus girl to fill in for a prima donna, yet what really hurt was that her mother was in on the brunette's private sessions, and never told her… _

"_Are you going to tell her, Meg?"_

"_No," she replied, her hands balled into fists. "Tonight after the performance, you are."_

Everyone seemed to be happy. Carlotta's absence definitely had the opera house in better spirits, and, whenever Meg could catch a moment with her, Christine's face was positively glowing. Although, suspiciously, the younger woman was always in a hurry to get to her room…

It was like reopening an old wound though, when Christine had confronted her the other day about her singing, and while she had not admitted to sharing her tutor, the whole thing still bothered her. So many times, it seemed as though Christine had been the favored one, by her mother, by Erik, and by the managers. And now as Meg finished stretching one calf, she set her other one on top of her bed frame, and out of the corner of her eye caught a flash of a packet on her desk.

She picked up the packet and unclipped it, skimming over the typed letter on top, then browsing the pages beneath…sheet music…a casting call…an airplane ticket ...London…

* * *

"She lacked confidence," Erik declared, lying on the sofa, his gaze settled on the acoustic ceiling. "The other night I had a dream about Meg, about tutoring her, but I dismissed it as nothing more than a dream, but yesterday, it came to me. Her voice was exquisite, and for a young girl, she possessed such raw talent."

Again, there was the sound of scribbling. "What else can you recall?"

Thoughtfully, Erik shifted on the couch, draping one leg over another. "Although Meg has such a gentle nature, she could be very difficult to work with, undisciplined. Many times she wanted to quit, and she did."

"And then what happened?"

"Meg had an intense love for music, and that was what kept her coming back to me."

"How long did this go on?"

Erik shook his head. "I don't remember. Little by little, things are still coming back to me, and I feel if I could just remember how my head was hurt, then it would be the key to unlocking the rest of the memories. Have you ever been unable to recall something, but it was just on the tip of your tongue?"

"Of course."

"Well, that has been my life for the last year and a half."

More scribbling… "How does THAT make you feel?"

"Frustrated, but scared too. Sometimes, I'm not sure if I want to know." Erik rested a hand atop his forehead, as if to block an oncoming headache.

"How do you think Christine would feel about that?"

"I don't know," he said with a sigh.

"Do you ever plan on revealing your true self to her?"

One old expression came to Erik's mind at that moment: Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when we practice to deceive. His head began to throb, and his body rose to a sitting position. "That's enough for today."

* * *


	22. The Days of Future Passed

**CHAPTER 22- The Days of Future Passed**

"And Derek says that one day, when his opera is on the stage, that he wants me to perform the lead!"

Meg was quiet as she placed her clean and folded undergarments neatly into her bureau drawer, while Christine incessantly filled her ears with the latest on her new relationship.

Absently, Christine flipped through the pages of a fashion magazine. "And when Andre and Firmin begin to discuss casting for the next opera in three weeks, Derek says he will speak to them about my taking over for Carlotta…"

Something about this sounded so terribly familiar…

Her blonde head turned sharply to her friend, stopping Christine from proceeding. "Christine? Isn't Derek familiar to you?" She closed the drawer, and joined the brunette who was lying on her stomach, her toes pointing to the ceiling.

Christine's head popped up from the page she was looking at and gasped. "That's right!" she replied with big brown eyes. "I forgot to tell you! I finally figured it out!"

"You did?"

"Yes," she replied, rolling over onto her back. "And it was so obvious, the sandy blonde hair, the matching mustache, the only thing I was forgetting was the mask!"

The blonde dancer braced herself. "Really?"

"And to think all this time, Derek was the same man I danced with at the bal masque!"

Rolling her eyes, Meg shook her head. Sometimes she did not know about the girl beside her.

"So? Are you going to try for a solo in the next production?"

"No."

Sitting up, Christine elbowed her. "Meg, you have to!"

"I already told you, Christine. I sing for my pleasure only," she replied, picking up Christine's magazine. "Besides, Mama would never allow it."

"Meg," she told her, bracing her hands on the blonde's shoulders. "You are an adult now. Whose life are you living?"

Meg was still for a long moment, thinking…as though Christine's words had been just the pinch that she needed to wake her up…

Without a word, the blonde removed Christine's hands from her shoulders, rose from the bed, and resolutely headed straight for her door.

"Meg? Wait, where are you going?" she asked, puzzled, but there was no reply as her friend closed the door firmly behind her. Rising to her feet, Christine reached her hand out to the doorknob, but there was a crackling noise as she stepped. She looked down, backing up, and removed a packet that was sticking out from underneath the bed.

In disbelief, her eyes met the words on the top page, an invitation for Meg to audition at the Apollo Victoria Theatre in London accompanied by an airplane ticket. Her mouth fell agape, and her mind was reeling as she flipped to the sheet music underneath. It was for a Broadway musical that had garnered rave reviews on the theatre front- Wicked.

* * *

At this point, Christine was sure of just where Meg was heading, and rushed to Madame Giry's quarters, wondering why her friend had not mentioned the invitation to her, and why, suddenly, there were so many secrets between them. It was too much to bear, and Christine could not stand the thought of her best friend leaving. As she approached the door, already she could hear raised voices…

"I don't want to hear it anymore, Meg. Who is it? Who is the one filling your head with these crazy ideas? Is it Christine?"

Tight and stern on the other side of the door, Christine could hear the voice of the woman who was the closest thing to a mother that she ever had.

"It's time you forget about singing and concentrate on your dancing."

"Mother, you don't understand," she heard Meg's voice plead. "You've never really heard me sing before."

"Of course I have," she told her dismissively. "Meg, listen, everyone is gifted with one outstanding talent. Christine was blessed with the gift of voice, and you were blessed with the gift of dance."

It was quiet for a moment when Christine heard her friend speak up again. "I can't listen to this anymore." Christine heard footsteps and stepped away from the door when she heard Antoinette's voice speak again.

"Meg, my Meg," she said softly, "you've waited so long, but you have to be patient. La Sorelli will retire, and you will take her pla…"

"You've been saying that for eight years, Mother."

"Meg…please."

"I'm leaving here," Meg's voice said softly.

"Where are you going? _This_ is your home."

"I'm going to London. I'm going to audition for a musical," Meg replied, her voice a little shaky.

"A musical?" the ballet manager laughed. "That's ridiculous! The opera is where you belong. And here in the Opera Populaire, you will be a star."

"That's not true, Mama, because dancing was never _my_ dream." The words seemed to hang in the air like a thick fog, and Christine inwardly gasped at the mention of them. "It was yours."

As Meg's footsteps became louder as she approached the door, Christine rushed down the hallway so as not to be seen and watched as the disturbed young woman exited her mother's room, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Christine had completed her lesson for the day, and her watch reminded her that it was time to get to dance rehearsal, and although she had smiled lovingly to her tutor, Erik could tell something was bothering her.

"Are you alright, Christine?" he asked in a low voice.

She looked up into the concerned hazel eyes of her lover, wishing as always he could just kiss and hold her, and now erase the rift between her surrogate mother and sister…and any thoughts of her leaving. "We'll talk later."

Erik nodded, wanting to take the irresistible young woman into his arms, but she hurried off, and to his surprise Meg approached him. "Hello, Meg," he said pleasantly as images of the blond child flooded his mind with the force of a raging river.

"Don't hurt her."

He studied the graceful dancer before him. Her blue eyes were slightly red and puffy, and there was not a trace of a smile on her face as she spoke curtly to him. "I have no intention of…"

"You know you are going to have to tell her."

His heart began to thump loudly in his chest. "Meg, I really don't know what you mean…"

"Cut the crap, Erik. You know exactly what I mean," she told him, her hands now on her hips.

Taken aback, he replied, "You mean Derek…"

"Listen," she said impatiently, her eyes darting around to be sure no one else was around. "I've always known who you really are, Erik. I'm not a dope like Christine, I mean, she's like a sister and I love her, but she's a dope."

Her eyes were as cold as ice as she stood there, and he saw no point in keeping with the charade. "Your mother told you?"

Her blond curls bounced as she shook her head. "No, she didn't have to."

Erik did not know what to say as the young woman before him, once so meek, now faced him with the confidence of a diva, fiery righteousness in her eyes. She reminded him of her mother…

"She loves you, Erik. Try to get that into that cracked skull of yours, and don't hurt her. There, I've said what I needed to say…" she said, taking a few steps past him.

The room seemed to be spinning around him. He wanted to know how she knew, wanted to apologize for the regret that he felt inside for her, but he didn't know why. "Meg," he said, trying to stop her, or slow her down.

Meg stopped in her tracks, and turned to meet his gaze. "Oh yeah, and, thank you for the ticket." With that, she made her way backstage.

* * *

"I think Giry hates me," he stated, his deep blue eyes focused on the ceiling once again, seated on the couch with one long leg crossed over the other.

"Which one?"

"Probably both, but I mean Meg," he replied with a sigh. "One difference between who I was, and who I am now… is that I don't think that being hated… bothered me before."

There was that sound of scribbling again, and to Erik, right now, it was worst than the sound of nails on a chalkboard.

"How does that make you _feel_?"

Erik rolled his eyes. "Bothered!"

"Alright, why do you think she hates you?"

"I really don't know. I have always cared for Meg…like a daughter. I just want to see her do well, and be happy, and I didn't realize until recently how much Daphne reminds me of her."

"Is that why you felt compelled to take the former prostitute into your home?"

"And hire her as my maid, yes, I believe so."

Scribbling.

"What's worse is that Meg knows who I really am, and has known all along," Erik admitted.

There was silence for a moment. "How does she know?"

Erik shrugged, "I can't possibly know. She wants me to tell Christine, and I'm afraid that if I don't, she may tell her."

"And how does that make you _feel_?"

Blinking, Erik could feel the heat rise to his face, and he sat up on the couch. "It makes me AFRAID!" Erik stood up and paced, his eyes meeting blackish brown ones. "You know, Nadir, you're not very good at this! I don't want to play therapy anymore. It's not helping!"

Nadir stood up from his chair, dropping his notepad and pen onto his desk. "Come now, Erik, it's good for you to talk to someone, and since you won't see a real therapist…"

Shaking his head, he interrupted. "Can't you see I'm upset about this?"

"Erik, listen," he reasoned, "I tried to tell you not to get involved with Christine for more than one reason. For one thing, you're old enough to be her uncle…"

The former opera ghost continued to pace. "You are not helping!"

"Okay, okay, she obviously loves you, or she wouldn't be with you, right?"

Erik stopped in his tracks and eyed the Iranian. "Why are you so accepting of our relationship suddenly?" he asked suspiciously.

Sitting back on the chair, Nadir swiveled back and forth. "You are not the man you used to be, Erik. You aren't trying to hurt anyone to get her, and Christine is with you because she wants to be…"

"But will that change when my memory comes back or when she finds out who I really am?"

"I don't know."

Running his fingers through his hair, Erik strode to the front door. "I have to go."

"Wait, Erik, don't leave yet," Nadir urged, springing from his chair.

"That's enough for today."

As he collapsed back into the chair, he flinched at the sound of the door slamming. Nadir shook his head, wondering to himself what kind of trouble might come with the return of his friend's memory.

And just like that, a memory of his own was to follow:

"_Nadir! Nadir!" the young blonde called out, waving her hands to get his attention, amongst the chaos of the opera house._

"_What is it, Meg?" he asked, placing concerned hands on her shoulders. Her blue eyes were wide, and tears drizzled down her cheeks._

_Out of breath, she met his eyes, pointing towards a passageway. "It's Erik," she told him frantically. _

_Nadir just happened to be in the audience, unimpressed as he watched the body of the stagehand convulsing as it hung from the Punjab lasso in front of the stage. Amongst the bustle of the crowd and cast members, the Iranian shuffled his way toward backstage, seeking the one woman who may have answers…Antoinette._

_He did not find Antoinette, instead the attractive ballerina found him, and aside from the most recent tragedy, the expression on Meg's face prompted a deep fear in the pit of his stomach. "Where is he?" he asked calmly._

_She hesitated for just a moment. "I think he's d…" she began, her lip quivering as she spoke, "I think he's d-d-done something terrible," she told him._

"_I'll take care of it," he assured the young woman, determinedly setting out towards the passageway._

_Wiping her tears, she nodded agreeably. "I think he's down there," she said, pointing downward. It was unnecessary. Nadir knew where to find him._

"_Listen to me, Meg," Nadir told her, meeting her eyes once more. "Do not speak of this to anyone. Not Christine, and not even your mother, do you understand?"_

_Nodding, her blue eyes showed relief. And Nadir wasted no time, cursing the violent nature of his friend as he made the weary trek to the lair._

* * *

_A/N: Love to hear from you...please review!_


	23. The Truth About Joseph Buquet

A/N: Thanks, as always for your support and reviews! I'm posting another update because I'm ahead again :) Hope you enjoy and more to come next week. Please let me know what you think!

**CHAPTER 23- The Truth About Joseph Buquet**

_The eve of his death…_

_Seated on their old, patched up recliner, Audrey Buquet watched in horror as the newscaster reported a story of a policeman, who under the influence of a powerful sleeping pill, drove carelessly throughout the streets of Paris, banging into cars, and hit an elderly pedestrian. The policeman denied the incident, despite the eyewitness accounts and the footage of the camera. Apparently, the officer had no recollection of the events._

_Furious, Audrey burst from the chair to meet her husband in the bathroom, freshly showered, wearing only a towel. "Joseph!" she called out, her eyes filled with worry._

"_What is it, love?" Joseph asked, pulling a comb from a drawer._

"_I want you to stop taking it."_

_Joseph looked to his wife of twenty years. The bags under her eyes were as prominent as his. Her face now seemed to be shrouded in a permanent frown, her youthful appearance was marred by wrinkles. What had happened to the beauty that he married so long ago? "You know I can't do that."_

"_You have to. On the news, they just reported another incident, Joseph. That drug is dangerous. People do things, like they're sleepwalking, and don't even remember," she informed him, her arms flailing about wildly._

_He ignored the angry rant of his wife and smiled. "Look at me," he told her, taking her chin in his hand. "Nothing is going to happen."_

_In fact, there had been many incidents. She remembered the time late at night, he had run through the building out into the streets wearing nothing but socks. Sleeping, she had not even realized he was gone, until the Paris police returned him. And there were other smaller incidents- waking up to find furniture turned upside down, to name one…and at his job in the opera house there had been several sexual harassment complaints. While it was uncharacteristic of her husband, and he had vehemently denied the charges, Audrey was fully aware that his job was hanging by a thread. _

"_I have a bad feeling, Joseph, please don't take it tonight," she warned._

_Throwing his hands up in the air, he raised his voice. "Dammit, Audrey, I want to sleep. I can't bloody well sleep without taking it."_

"_Then take it when you come home."_

"_You know it takes hours for it to make me tired, and I have to get up at 5 for my job at the factory." Joseph did not know why he should have to explain this to her over and over again. If there were a better way, he would take it. He could not sleep, and while the rest of Paris lay peacefully in their beds, his mind was awake, racing._

_The pill itself was not overly dangerous, she knew. The times when he took more than prescribed, and especially when he mixed the alcohol had been the worst. "Fine," she told him grudgingly, "then don't drink."_

* * *

_He still had to secure the curtains, and move some props into the storage room, and with one hour until show time, his list of duties was getting longer and longer. So far, he had resisted removing the flask from his shirt pocket, wanting the burn of the liquid to remove some of the stress, when la Carlotta poked him sharply in the back._

"_Buquet!" she commanded, hands on hips._

_Dread filled his body at the sound of her voice. Turning around to face her, he pasted a smile to his face. "Yes?"_

"_Dey stink! I want you to move dee dogs to Piangi's room."_

"_I have about fifty other things I have to do right now…"_

_"JUST…Do…EET!" she told him through clenched teeth. An expression of calm came across her face suddenly. "Or I weel have a talk weeth the managers."_

_With that, the queen of the opera house was gone, and Joseph shook his head, breathing a depressed sigh. And then he removed the flask from his pocket._

* * *

She looked so beautiful beneath him, the way her auburn locks were splayed about her pillow, the glow of her complexion, the sparkle in those warm brown eyes. Erik wished, as always that they could stay just like this.

Stroking her hair, he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, settling himself beside her, and voiced the words that he had been holding back. "I love you, Christine."

A smile played about her lips, and her fingers sought to outline the thin hairs of his mustache. "I suspected as much."

He took her hand in his, setting a kiss on her knuckles. "Whatever happens, I will always love you," he confessed, realizing that this was probably the most important moment of his life.

The sound of barking startled the pair, and a fast gallop seemed to halt just outside her room.

"What the hell?"

Christine rolled her eyes. "The dogs."

"Why," he asked, unable to comprehend the ridiculousness of two pesky poodles running free through the Opera Populaire, "doesn't Carlotta have her pets with her?"

"Because she's sick."

Open-mouthed he looked to his angel. "They are disruptive, running across the stage, interrupting our sessions, and the rehearsals. She should care for her own dogs."

"Why would she do that when she could have everyone here do it for her?" Christine asked, partially wondering whether Derek had really grasped the diva's nature.

"Point taken."

At that moment, Christine sought the opportunity to erase the frown from her handsome lover's face, leaning into him seductively, and brushing his lips with hers. "Let's forget about the…"

She could not finish her sentence as Erik joined his lips with hers, pulling her on top of him, his fingers seeking the hem of her nightie. Slowly, he lifted it across the smooth, silky skin of her back, up and over her head. If he lived to be one hundred years old, he was sure he could never get enough of this woman, as he leaned her bare torso in towards him, his lips followed the path to her neck.

A noisy whimpering sound halted the mood, and immediately Erik fell back onto the pillow. He wanted to string those two animals up by their necks. Christine already had her nightgown in her hand and was slipping it back on. "Christine, just leave them be," he said, hoping they would just go away.

More whining could be heard, and it seemed that now it was getting louder.

She shook her head, and Erik loved the way her curls bounced in the dim light. "No. They must have gotten out, and there's no one else around. I have to put them back."

"Please, don't go," he called out, mock teasingly.

But, she did, and blowing him a kiss as she opened the door, Christine told him to save her place.

Ten minutes later…

With a smile, Christine disrobed and climbed back into the warm bed, chilled from the night air. Erik was quick to share his body heat, cuddling the young goddess beside him, still reveling in the sweetness of her presence…and in the fact that she belonged to him.

"I forgot to tell you," she began, meeting his gaze. "I spoke to Meg today."

Erik's heart stopped. "Really? How is she?"

"She is great! She landed a role as the witch's mother, and also as an understudy for Galinda."

His heartbeat resumed a normal pattern. "That's great! But don't you mean Glinda- the good witch?"

Christine shrugged. "Ga-linda/Glinda, same thing I suppose. She was very specific, whatever that means. Meg sounds so happy, Derek. A couple of the cast members are even letting her stay with them in their flat."

Breathing a sigh of relief, he was glad that it all worked out. Hopefully there were no hard feelings…and that she did not volunteer any unnecessary information.

"And," Christine added, "she says she owes it all to you. What does she mean by that?"

"I know the director at the Apollo Victoria Theater in London," he told her offhandedly, hoping there would be no more questions. Suddenly, Erik felt the urge to remove himself from there…and quickly. "It's late, Christine, and I have some errands I have to take care of first thing in the morning."

Sitting up, Christine had trouble hiding her disappointment. "Can't you just stay a little while longer?" she asked, watching his muscular form as he pulled his slacks back on.

With a smile, he turned to her, cupping her chin in his hand. "Not tonight, my love. When will you come to my house for a change?" he asked.

"One more week of performances, and then one week of paradise with you," she replied, snuggling back into the blankets, willing the next seven days to pass quickly.

After dressing, he gave her one more kiss, and as he slipped through the mirror, he could hardly wait for that blissful week to come.

* * *

Whimpering sounds plagued his dreams that night as he slept, and several times he had awoken, sure that there must be animals in his room. When he could not take it anymore, he rose to inspect his quarters, confirming that everything was as it should be, but unfortunately as he lay back in bed, he found himself unable to sleep. Even miles from the Opera Populaire, the devil woman's dogs seemed to haunt him…

That's when it hit him, and now the memory was crystal clear. There would be no sleep tonight, as Erik rose once again from his bed, and reached for his robe.

* * *

Groggy, Nadir rubbed his eyes as he trudged his way to the door. "This better be good," he called out, before even checking the peephole.

"It's me."

Erik's voice seemed to jolt his sleepiness like a pot of coffee. "Erik?" he asked, his eyes confirming the figure on the outside of his door.

"Open up, Nadir."

He gave Erik entrance, his mind now consumed with worry. "For Allah's sake, Erik, it's four o'clock in the morning. Are you okay?"

His deep blue eyes were dead serious as he made his way to Nadir's couch, and laid his body down. "I didn't kill Joseph Buquet."

_One was just not going to be enough. _

_The more Erik thought about it, and he had given it a lot of thought over the last few minutes; he was sure that just one would not suffice. Prior to the beginning of the performance, he had seen the stagehand transfer the two pet carriers to Piangi's dressing room. And now, as the esteemed Opera Ghost tied the Punjab Lasso securely to one of the rafters, he reconsidered his plan. After all, hanging both of the diva's mangy mutts would be considerably more devastating than merely hanging one. He did not care for the flea-bitten animals himself, and it was not as though they were human- Nadir never said anything about not killing animals; only humans if he recalled correctly. With a smirk, Erik could imagine how much more disturbing it would be when all Carlotta had left of her precious frilly poodles were their bejeweled collars._

_A tiny voice inside him reminded that he had already ruined her voice for the evening, and that now it was Christine's time to shine as the countess, but no, Erik argued, heading for the tenor's dressing room. Humiliation was not enough. Besides, it was not likely that his angel would get the attention she so deserved after all of Carlotta's croaking. In fact, after that fiasco, the audience was likely to demand their money back. With the aid of his handy dandy skeleton key, Erik entered with ease, his sudden appearance prompting barks from the two disturbed canines. Looking around, he located a couple of ties, and quickly muzzled the noisy animals, stuffing them into the larger of the two pet cages. Cursing the noise of the dog's whimpers, he let himself out, the carrier weighing down his right side, and quickly made his way several floors above…_

* * *

"_Get down from there, you fool! That wasn't meant for you!" Erik hissed at the stagehand, setting down the pet carrier with a loud clank. Joseph Buquet stood there on the rafter, gripping the Punjab lasso, looping the noose around his neck, with a silly smile of contempt on his face._

_Clearly this man is crazier than me, he thought._

"_I'm here, Monsieur Phantom, come and get me!" he taunted, almost losing his footing on the thin railing. _

_Erik rolled his eyes. "Do you have a death wish, Buquet?"_

"_I am finally going to prove to everyone here that the Phantom of the Opera is real!" he said, puffing his chest out. He felt like he could take on the world, and finally once he exposed the opera ghost, he would be a hero._

_With the stealth of a fox, Erik moved toward the now shaky stagehand who seemed to be struggling to free the rope from his neck. "How are you going to do that, you idiot, if you are dead?"_

_There was the annoying whine of the whimpering dogs, and with a sigh, Erik wondered what on earth could have possessed this man to be messing with his stuff, and his plan. But as he neared him, he could smell it on his breath- whiskey._

_Joseph's eyes became wide with fear, struggling desperately with the noose, realizing if he took one step backward, the grip would tighten, but if the phantom caught him, his fate would be sealed anyway. It seemed like a good idea at the time…_

_Erik felt very put out by all of this. If he wanted to dispatch the drunken stagehand, he would have done so long ago, but that's not what this was all about._

_**"Your part is silent, little toad."**_

_Seething, Erik wished that it were Carlotta in Buquet's place. He could still hear her shrill voice in his mind, insulting his Christine, tonight publicly, but there had been so many other times… The desire to punish that Italian nightmare was overwhelming, even more so than the urge to punish the managers for allowing Christine's suitor to occupy his place in box five._

_Somehow, allowing an intoxicated stagehand to die this way was not enough. There was no glory in it. There was no revenge, for Carlotta. _

"_Be still, you fool!" Erik told him, extending his arms out to grasp Buquet's shoulder, which was still out of reach._

"_Back off!" he called out. "Stay away, you monster!" he shouted out, taking a step back, his fingers unable to loosen the knot. Trying to calculate the number of feet to the next beam, Buquet turned his head, his eyes meeting the parallel rafter, uttering a prayer to God._

"_Don't even think it!" Erik said through his teeth._

_But it was too late, as Buquet leapt, he narrowly missed the beam, and as the alcoholic fell fifty feet, the noose fulfilled its promise. Frustrated, Erik looked down, shaking his head in disbelief, and once again the whimper of those yapping dogs flooded his ears. "Well," he began angrily, as the horrific cries of the people below rang out. "That's…just…PERFECT!"_

* * *


	24. The Confession

**CHAPTER 24- The Confession**

Erik gave Christine a charming smile as he offered his hand to help her out of his car. He had been anticipating her stay with him at his estate for a whole week. After a long seven days of nightly performances and the glittering celebration of the cast party after the final performance, the two rejoiced in her success, but now he could see his beautiful angel suppressing another yawn with her small hand, trying to ignore the night's late hour. Rising to face her handsome lover, she smiled back, setting a kiss on his lips. He eagerly responded, as always, gripping the smooth satin of the back of her dress with eager fingers, and drawing her body to his.

A gust of wind swept across their faces, lifting sparkly locks from Christine's neck, but on that uncommonly cool night, neither noticed the chill, wrapped in the warm comfort of each other's embrace. The seductive feel of her lips and body was entirely too tempting for him, and although the kiss may have quickly blossomed into something more, Christine found she could no longer suppress the urge, and yawned into his mouth, pulling her face away.

"Are you bored with me so quickly?" he asked with a smirk, now leading Christine away from the car and pushing the door shut behind her.

Laying her head on his shoulder, Christine giggled. "I'm sorry. It's been a long week. And I'm not used to being up this late."

Christine had been lost in thought on the ride to Derek's home. It was the perfect end to a perfect week, and although relieved that this production was at its end, Christine also felt a little melancholy. She had never felt like a star before, never truly embraced the prestige and glory that go with performing the lead role, and now the young ingénue still felt intoxicated by the applause of three weeks' performances, having basked in every moment of the spotlight, and was mesmerized by the power of the stage. True, it was not a role that had originally been hers, and though, unintentionally she had caused Carlotta to take ill, Christine could not help feeling that the honor of the lead was rightly hers. With casting coming up again in another week, she felt ambivalent. Having tasted the sweetness of a diva's role, she wondered if she could ever feel right about going back to a lesser part. Playing the part of a chorus girl now seemed so unfulfilling, so, dare she think it, insignificant. Now, as happy as she was to finally spend alone time with her tutor out in the open, not having to steal kisses behind the curtain, or always be on the lookout for watchful eyes, her mind was preoccupied. And casting of this new production was all she could think of.

"Did you hear the rumor at the party?" she asked as they walked through the grand double doors.

Shaking his head, he set Christine's bag down on the floor, and took her into his arms. "Tell me."

"I heard that Carlotta's contract is up this week…" she said, curling her fingers in his hair as she met his gaze.

"And if Andre and Firmin had any sense they would _not_ renew it," he finished for her, laying a gentle kiss on her nose.

"What if they do?" she whispered, her eyes vulnerable.

Erik smiled. _Then I will dispatch the shrill devil woman posthaste_. Tempting though it was, he would have loved to do just that, but the reality was that he was no longer that person. Although, his first urges may have lead to violence, Erik no longer had the drive to follow through. He took her hand in his, leading his yawning young diva up the stairs to his master suite. The very thought of his Christine not performing a starring role was ludicrous. But for this moment, he did not want to ponder the stupidity of the managers' thinking…or how he could sway them…

"Well," he began encouragingly, "then there are many other opera houses out there whose stage you can brighten. In Paris alone, the Opera-Comique, the Theatre du Chatelet, and the Theatre des Champs-Elysees. Or you can bridge over into musical theater like Meg."

As her lover went on about the possibilities of performing in London or on Broadway in New York, Christine's face fell. She did not want to consider the possibility that Carlotta might come back, or even worse, of leaving the Opera Populaire.

* * *

For the first time as he lay beside her, his heart pounded with fear. Here she was in his bed, like a goddess, her nude body bathed in the moonlight's glow. He was grateful that she was facing away from him, unable to witness his impending panic attack.

He was going to tell her.

Every day since his lips met hers, guilt tore away at his soul. Meg had been right, and though he had tried to kid himself into thinking that there was no reason that Christine should know his true identity, he felt the shame of deceiving her. Erik loved this woman with all his heart, and though he was not proud of the man he once was, he had come to realize that Christine deserved to know the truth.

"Christine?" he said softly, whispering in her ear.

She turned his face to his and smiled. "Yes?"

"You're so beautiful," he told her, kissing her and curling her backside into him. The nervous thumping of his heart was like the pounding of a drum.

Turning away from him, she breathed a contented sigh. "I love you, Derek."

His heart pounded faster. What if she never told him these words again? "I love you too." She leaned her hand backward onto his cheek. "Christine?"

"Hmmm hmmm?"

"I haven't been entirely honest with you."

"You haven't?" she asked softly.

His hand, which appeared to be much larger than hers, grasped her hand, and set it upon her stomach, covered by his own.

"I'm not who you think I am."

"Who are you?" she said with another yawn.

Erik was silent for a long moment, contemplating how to continue. "I suppose that I have been known by a few names," he replied softly, so soft that he half-hoped that she would not hear.

"Uh huh?"

"And I never meant to lie to you, Christine, because I've loved you for as long as I've known you."

There was no reply, and Erik's grip on her became slightly stronger.

"I was…am… the phantom of the opera," he confessed with a gulp. Terrified by her silence, he waited for her to say something, anything…but, she didn't. "Christine? Are you asleep?"

She started for a moment, her eyes fluttering open. "No, I'm not asleep," she lied, drifting back into a peaceful slumber.

"What I'm telling you right now is very important."

"Very important," she repeated softly.

He let out a sigh, wondering just how to phrase it. But then, he heard the soft rumble of snoring.

* * *

Day 2

Of course he was going to tell her. Erik had to. He just didn't know how…or when…

He sat across from her at breakfast, watching as she used her fork and knife to daintily cut her pancakes. How, he wondered, does one possibly broach this rather unpleasant subject? Still watching Christine as she spread the cut squares of her flapjacks apart like buildings on city streets, Erik wondered if he should wait until she was finished drizzling her creation with maple syrup. Or maybe once she took the last sip of her coffee?

"Derek?" she smiled, sensing her companion's unease as she enjoyed her sumptuous breakfast.

Distracted and distraught, he set eyes on the young beauty before him. "Yes?"

"What's wrong? You've hardly touched your breakfast."

Erik looked down at his ridiculously large platter, filled with a three-egg omelet, assorted breakfast meats, fresh fruit garnish, and stack of perfectly round pancakes. He found that although his cook had indeed prepared a fine meal, he had no appetite. Maybe, he thought, he could put off his confession until lunch. Chinese cuisine sounded delightful, and then maybe he could plant it inside of a fortune cookie…_I am the opera ghost. _

On second thought, maybe that was not such a good idea.

"Derek?"

Lost in thought, Erik looked to Christine, who had set a small hand on his with concern.

"I'm sorry. I have something on my mind," he admitted, and then smiled, lifting her hand to his lips and setting a gentle kiss on the soft skin of her knuckles.

"You were trying to tell me something last night, and I fell asleep." She poked at her pancakes with her fork.

"Right." His heart began to pound again, and he took a deep breath, noticing how lovely his living, breathing doll looked as she chewed, her lips closed ever so delicately… "You know how I have avoided speaking about my past?"

Still chewing, Christine nodded.

"Yes, well, I was a _different_ person before…" He paused, looking for a spark of recognition in her face. _Nothing._ "I've… done things that I'm not proud of, things that have hurt other people…"

Swallowing, the soprano's brown eyes became wide and she covered her mouth. "OH…MY…GOD…!"

Erik sat silently, terrified of what she must be thinking.

Tears welled in her eyes, as she looked to him sympathetically. "It's like when we…when I took Carlotta's water bottle and she became…"

He had to interrupt. "It's kind of like that, but…"

Her gaze met his now, her expressive brown eyes now filled with regret. "Like the time that I told the most terrible lie to my fi-" she began, but stopped herself, careful about how much to reveal. "Boyfriend," she corrected. "I lied to break up with him."

_The most terrible lie?_ Erik had to think on that one for just a moment.

This time she took his hands in hers and looked him in the eyes. "Derek, if there's anything I've learned, it is that we can't let the past control us. We all make mistakes, and we have to forgive ourselves. And then once we have done that, we can become the person we want to be."

"No, but Christine…"

"Bup, bup!" she silenced with one hand. "I love you, Derek, and I'm happy right now. Aren't you?"

Of course he was happy, happier than he'd ever been. With the love of his life here with him right now, how could he be otherwise? He nodded, feeling very humbled by her words. "I'm _very_ happy."

Squeezing his hand, she braced her fork in her other, and continued to work on her breakfast.

With a sigh, he picked up his fork and cut into his omelet. For the moment, he decided to drop the subject. A power bigger than himself had deemed him deliriously happy, so he was he to argue?

* * *

Day 3

Today was the day. No doubt about it.

Hand in hand, Erik and Christine strolled out into the lush gardens of the estate, looking forward to a romantic afternoon picnic. They reached a large, white gazebo, with colorful, fragrant vines draping over the eaves. Christine reached out to finger the delicate white flowers, when her breath caught in her throat. As she stood gazing out over the hilltop, her eyes met an incredible view of the city.

"It's so beautiful," she breathed, her eyes wide with childlike wonder.

Erik could not enjoy the view, however, feeling too preoccupied. He stood by her side, and draped her shoulder with his arm.

At that moment, Daphne and a middle-aged woman appeared with place settings, a picnic basket, a bottle of wine, and two goblets, quickly setting the table as elegantly as any restaurant Christine had ever seen.

Christine turned around, still impressed by his staff's exceptional service. She loved to be spoiled. "Thank you!" she squealed with delight. The princess treatment was definitely something she could get used to.

The middle-aged woman, Rosa, was the cook, and an excellent one, Christine had come to learn, and with her rotund figure and kind smile, she had liked her immediately. Rosa busily arranged a plate of salmon and vegetables, while Daphne poured the wine. Smiling, Christine eyed the young maid, watching as she attended her tasks with precision that betrayed her years.

"Is there anything else?" Daphne asked, setting the bottle on the table.

"Thank you, Rosa and Daphne. Everything is perfect." Erik sat across from Christine, watching as she took the ivory linen napkin and set it on her lap in a very ladylike fashion. At that moment, everything was perfect. Why should he spoil it? But, of course, that nagging little voice inside his head chirped like an annoying cricket. _Tell her…tell her…_

Taking a rather large gulp of his wine, Erik refilled his glass. "Christine?"

Sipping at her glass, she tore her gaze from the gorgeous view to the mesmerizing hazel eyes of her lover, and down to her dish. "This looks delicious," she said, putting her goblet down and reaching for a fork.

He did not know where to begin. "Did you ever… know someone who…reminded you of someone else?" Taking a breath, he covered the right side of his face with his hand.

Her mouth was full of salmon, and her hand clasped over her lips in surprise. Nodding, she quickly swallowed. "OH…MY…GOD!"

His heart began to pound again.

"I am so stupid! I can't believe I never realized it before," she said in shock.

He reached out to grab her hand. "No, you're not stupid, you just…"

"Daphne!"

"Heh?" he asked, puzzled.

"She looks just like Meg! I don't know how I didn't realize it before," she remarked, smacking herself on her forehead.

"Well, not exactly what I meant." He really felt like he was entering dangerous territory. "I mean, someone from your past, who has likenesses and traits that are similar to someone you are close to now," he said, noting the confused look on her face, then added in a small voice, "Like me."

Christine dropped her fork. "He's dead."

_Thump thump. Thump thump. _

Erik took another very large sip of his wine. "What if he…wasn't dead?"

"What kind of question is that, Derek? Of course he is. And not a day goes by that I don't think of him."

He felt as though he'd been punched with a huge iron fist, feeling his breath knocked away by her words. What next? How to proceed? Were there any words to make things right? At this point, Erik did not know if he should say anything at all as tears welled in her eyes.

Christine took the napkin and dabbed at her nose. "He would've loved you."

Somehow, Erik doubted that very much.

"Huh?" he responded, puzzled once more.

Nodding, Christine took his hands in hers. "You are so like him, my father. He was kind and gentle, patient and loving. A brilliant musician…"

_Her father_…Erik suddenly felt the urge to smack his forehead, or maybe even smack hers. As the young soprano reminisced about the late Charles Daae, the former opera ghost wondered if this was a sign from above, telling him that some things are better left unsaid.

Their days had been spent dining in fine restaurants, shopping, attending other opera houses…blissful…perfect…content…and still, Erik could not feel any peace in his soul, as she slept soundly beside him that night. He had been exercising the utmost care with his disguise, rising each morning before Christine awoke to replace the contact lenses, sometimes falling asleep with them on. The fake mustache had certainly been a bother, constantly checking to make sure whether it was on straight, having always to keep it on, and by that time he'd accumulated a half dozen. Now he wondered if he should have even bothered…

His mind raced as he tossed and turned. Sleep completely eluded him and the blasted little colored discs were dry and uncomfortable in his eyes. Finally, fearing he would disturb Christine, Erik rose from his bed to seek the one place he might find serenity.

* * *

The sound of a door slamming jolted her from sleep. Christine thought she had dreamt it, and just as soon as she began to drift back to sleep once more, there was another slam. Rubbing her eyes, she looked around for Derek. He was neither in bed nor in the room. Rising from the bed, she slipped on her robe, sure that the noise had come from downstairs. As she made her way down the staircase, she could make out a figure standing outside the doors of the room adjacent to his music room, and heard the piano's voice calling out a familiar tune.

Wearing a frilly satin nightie, Daphne was there, her ear plastered to the door.

"Daphne?" Christine whispered.

The blonde put her fingers to her mouth. "SHHHH!!"

And that's when the voice emerged, rich, clear, beautiful.

"Quando sono solo

sogne all' orrizonte

a mancan le parole,

Si lo so che non c'e luce

In una stanza quando manca il sole,

Se non ci sei tu con me, con me."

Her heart began to pound, as her favorite song filled her ears, and the two young women stood side by side, each with tears in her eyes. It was the song Erik used to sing to her when she was missing her father. Christine could not care less why the maid stood there as she leaned her back against the wall, then slid slowly down to sit on the floor, mesmerized by the voice on the inside, that achingly familiar voice…

She had not the courage to knock, or to speak, and in the silence after the music had ended, the Meg look-alike retreated to her quarters. Christine simply sat there on the floor, in shock, wondering if she was being haunted by her past. Maybe, even in death, her angel was punishing her…

The sound of the doorknob startled her, and Christine quickly rose to her feet. The door opened, and deep blue eyes met hers with surprise.

"Derek?" she asked questioningly. "What…your eyes…your voice…" Christine stopped as her gaze fell beyond his tall figure to the cavern like walls inside. "What in the world? OH…MY…GOD…!!"

Christine gazed around the music room in awe. This perfect replica of the lair gave her chills, and her mind reeled as she looked at the surroundings, her eyes taking in a sight she thought she would never see again. Every detail was as she remembered, the red draperies, the long tapered candles, the knick knacks...

"I don't believe this. Am I dreaming? I don't know what to say," she said.

"Please, Christine," he asked taking her hands in his. "Don't say anything. Just listen." He led her to the piano bench, sitting her down. _No turning back now_… He heaved a long sigh before he began. "The night of Joseph Buquet's death, my head was injured somehow…I still do not recall a lot of things, you see. The doctor diagnosed me with amnesia. My friend, Nadir, found me in the lair, unconscious and bleeding, and for my sake tried not to encourange my memory to return, telling me it was for my own good. I suppose that he was right because it has enabled me to become someone else, someone better…"

In shock, she reached a hand out to the right side of his face, her finger running along the smooth skin of his cheek. "What happened to your mask? Your face?"

"I underwent reconstructive surgery."

"And you didn't tell me?" she asked in disbelief.

"Because of the doll I crafted by hand, I knew what you looked like, but I had no idea WHO you were," he admitted. "I still have her by the way, upstairs, hidden. I was desperate to learn your identity, and how I knew you."

"How did you find out?"

Erik gave her a wry smile. "A very drunken Raoul told me what I needed to know…just before he vomited on my shoes!"

Christine's hand flew to her mouth. "He told you I was a lesbian!"

Nodding, he continued, "And I was watching through the mirror when you kissed Meg. I decided then that there was nothing left for me at the opera house…"

Blushing several shades of red, she finished the rest of the sentence. "And you blew up the lair, faking your death, but really disappeared…"

"And became someone else," he finished.

The proof was there before her; the remarkable blue of his eyes, the powerfully hypnotic and now undisguised voice, and yet Christine's mind could barely accept it. Hugging her arms to her chest, she fell silent.

He was at a loss for words as well, wondering if the young woman might just come to her senses and sprint from the room.

"I'm sorry, Christine, for misleading you."

"Erik," she breathed as she looked to him, moving towards him, and removing the mustache from his upper lip. "Everything in me tells me that it's true, that I have my angel back, but I believed you were dead - because I couldn't feel your presence anymore."

That was something he could not explain. When he saw tears well in her eyes and felt the blessed warmth of her arms around him, he held her with all his might, breathing a sigh of relief. "I'm here now," he whispered, "And I love you, Christine."

Standing there enveloped in each other's embrace, the two simply held each other, consumed by their private thoughts when Christine finally broke the silence.

"Erik, why didn't you tell me sooner?" she asked incredulously, punching him in the arm.

His head fell back in frustration, mouth wide open. "I've been trying to tell you all week!"

"No. Why didn't you tell me who you really were, Derek Windsor?" Still, she could not help her feelings of skepticism. "Was it because you _thought_ I wouldn't believe you?"

A smile shaped his lips as he placed his long, slender fingers on her cheeks, brushing the smoothness of her skin. "No, my love, I didn't tell you because I thought you would."

* * *

A/N: Just so you know, that is not ALL there is to that...but that's next chapter...Stay tuned & please review!


	25. The Trouble With Realizations

**CHAPTER 25 – The Trouble With Realizations**

It was weird. Very weird.

Christine could not sleep that night after Erik's confession. Her mind was bombarded by memories of a strange and strict music teacher. _Her angel of music_… After the glory of her first solo performance, he had seen fit to reveal his true self to her. She had seen many sides to the masked man. Erik could be as gentle as a lamb, and as threatening as a grizzly bear. Sometimes she could not help be afraid of his harsh nature, and struck suddenly by fear, she sat up in bed, flicking on the lamp beside her.

"Erik?"

Emotionally exhausted, Erik rolled over and sleepily faced her, blinking his eyes at the unwelcome light.

Her pulse raced, and filled with anxiety, she voiced her question. "Did you kill Joseph Buquet?"

Erik's eyes fell shut again. "No. It was an accident," he mumbled.

"An ACCIDENT?" she yelled doubtfully. Sadly, the idea of it was not so far-fetched. She was well aware of the man's temper.

"Yes," he sighed, "an accident." He shielded his eyes with his hand.

"What does that mean, Erik? Did Joseph accidentally find his neck in a noose you hung from the rafters?"

_Oh no_, Erik thought. It was entirely too early in the morning for questions such as these.

"Look at me," he commanded, holding her chin with two fingers sleepily. "Although I am certainly guilty of many things in my past, deeds that I do not even recall, this I am sure of. I remember it just like it was yesterday. I am innocent," he told her, noticing that other than the annoying light from her side of the bed, that it was unfailingly pitch black outside. "And if we can postpone the interrogation until daylight, I will be happy to answer your questions as well as I can."

She breathed a sigh, satisfied with his answer…for now. "Fine."

"Sleep, my love."

She reached for the lamp and switched it off, trying to settle back under the covers. Her mind was busy, and so far she was not appeased by the little information the formerly masked man had given her.

Sitting back up, she flipped the light back on.

Tears slid down her cheeks. "I can't believe you made us think you were dead!"

With another sigh, Erik turned to her, rubbing his eyes, and sat up beside her. "I did what I had to do, Christine. The police were looking for me, I didn't know who I was or what I had done…and how did I know you cared? You were SUPPOSED to be a lesbian!"

He draped his arm across her shoulder, slightly disturbed that she did not cuddle into him. Rubbing her back, he looked at his sad princess, now wondering if he had just opened up a huge can of worms with all this confession business.

Taking her silence as a good thing, he kissed her cheek. "Now, please," he yawned. "Let's go back to sleep."

Nodding, Christine agreed, feeling out of sorts, but still reached over and turned the light off.

Breathing a happy sigh that he might be able this time to catch forty winks, Erik burrowed further into the blankets when to his dismay, the light came on once again.

"Erik?"

Clasping his hand back over his eyes, he groaned with frustration, "Yes, my love?"

"So, you said that your friend, Nadir, knew."

"Yes."

"Did anyone else know?" she asked.

Erik wanted to lie to her and go back to sleep, but his conscience got the better of him. "Yes."

"Who?"

Sighing once again, he was unsure if he was ever going to get some sleep. "Madame Giry. She probably found out from Nadir."

Christine's mouth fell agape. "She knew?!"

"Yes, but I'm sure she had no intention of telling you." There, short, sweet, and to the point. Surely now she would let him sleep…

Feeling slightly miffed, Christine crossed her arms. "Well, anybody else?"

By this time, he was sure he was going to break into tears. "Christine," he pleaded, "I'm exhausted." He could not miss the undeterred look on his angel's face and immediately changed his tone. "Can we please talk about this in the morning over breakfast? Rosa will prepare her Belgian waffles…"

"No, right now I want to know who else knew," she replied stubbornly.

"Fine," he said through his teeth, and rubbed his eyes. "Meg knew. Are you happy now?" he snapped.

She let out a loud gasp, her expression filled with horror. "OH…MY…GOD! SHE knew?!" Christine felt a rush of emotions wash over her like a tidal wave: sadness, betrayal, disbelief…too many secrets. "How? Did she even know you?" The blonde had been at Erik's funeral service, but Christine had no clue that she had actually been acquainted with the opera ghost.

Erik sat up in bed and faced her, rubbing his eyes once more. "I don't know how she knew. I doubt her mother would have shared the news. To answer your second question, yes, Meg knew me."

Open-mouthed Christine just stared at him.

"The fact is, angel, is that I was tutoring Meg before I began teaching you."

"Oh my God," she breathed, hardly able to take in all this new information. "That would explain her voice, but still, Meg and I were so close, and she never told me…"

"Did _you_ ever tell Meg about _me_?" he asked evenly.

Shaking her head, she responded incredulously, "No!"

Lying back down in bed, Erik fluffed his pillow, hoping to God this was the end of it…for now. "Well, I suppose we all have had our share of secrets."

A yawn overcame her, and she sat for a moment in silence. "I guess you're right." But, another realization hit her. "So everyone knew but me," she said bitterly. "Who else knew, Erik? Carlotta maybe? Monsieur Reyer?"

_For the love of God…_ "Of course not. You have to believe me," he told her, setting his hand back on her shoulder. "Only the four of you know my true identity."

She looked into his deep blue eyes, recalling how their cerulean shade had always captivated her. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

He was telling the truth, she could tell by his expression of earnestness. "Fine," she said, yawning. She reached over and clicked the light off. "Good night."

Christine purposely kept to her side of the bed. For her, things still felt…weird. Only hours ago, she thought she was in love with a certain man, to learn now that he was someone else- someone who had known her since she was a child, someone who probably knew her better than she knew herself. Another yawn escaped her, but still his words floated in the air: _We all have our share of secrets._

The light flicked on again, and Christine looked at him with fearful eyes as old tabloid headlines haunted her. "Erik?"

Erik was so tired, he could barely keep his eyes open, and felt the urge to explode at the woman beside him. Instead, he gritted his teeth. "Yes, Christine."

"Did some woman really give birth to your LOVECHILD?"

* * *

The following afternoon found Erik and Christine's relationship strained. Erik had answered her every question honestly, and to the best of his memory, providing as much depth and detail as he possibly could. Still, she had not allowed him the smallest of affection, whether it be a simple kiss on the cheek, or the comfort of holding hands. And as they sat across from each other after lunch, Erik was disturbed, and desperate, wondering if the paradise they had experienced would ever return.

"I have an idea," he said, breaking what had been a long silence. "Why don't I go speak to Andre and Firmin today?"

Her eyes lit up. Aside from Erik's revelation, the uncertainty of her future at the Opera Populaire had definitely put her on edge. "Oh, Erik!" she exclaimed as Daphne entered to clear the dishes. "Would you?"

"Of course I will," he replied pleasantly. Waiting until the blonde exited the room with her loaded tray, he whispered to Christine. "I think you should continue to call me Derek. At least in front of others," he added. "That is the name by which I am known."

"Oh," she said, nodding. "Right." Smiling, her mood was lifted considerably. "And you can call me Chris…tine."

It was a silly joke, but the laugh they shared from it had provided the most ease that either had experienced that day.

* * *

"As a matter of fact, Monsieur Windsor, la Carlotta's contract has been renewed for another year."

Shocked, Erik stared at the two managers as he sat on the other side of the desk. "And Miss Daae?"

Andre hated to be the bearer of bad news and it showed on his face. "Miss Daae will be welcome to understudy again, as well as continue as part of the chorus…"

Firmin cut in, "And we encourage her to audition for solos. She has a beautiful voice…"

"And the audience loves her," Andre finished.

Taken aback, Erik sincerely hoped that he was not hearing this correctly. "Indeed, the audience loves Miss Daae, and I think many would agree that she deserves the leading role," Erik informed them.

The two bumbling managers shot a look to each other, before turning their uncomfortable gaze back to their patron/vocal coach.

"Be that as it may, Monsieur Windsor, it seems as though that is not possible," Andre began.

Erik looked from one idiot to the next, having lost complete respect for their judgment, as he met their eyes questioningly.

"What Monsieur Andre is trying to say, is that we believe that there is a conflict of interest, and it is not in the Opera Populaire's best interest to offer her a contract," Firmin explained.

"Conflict of interest?" Erik asked. "I don't understand."

Andre felt like he would rather be tortured with Carlotta's screeching than to be sitting there at that very moment. "This is very awkward, but we are well aware of the relationship between yourself and Miss Daae, and have known of it for some time."

Erik felt the heat rise to his face and stood sharply from the chair. "Our relationship is none of your business!"

Firmin spoke up, "Of course not, and Miss Daae has every right to see whomever she chooses."

"Right," Andre agreed, nervously twisting his mustache. "But, you _are_ the second patron she has become involved with…"

"The first one…how do I put it delicately? It did not work out so well," Firmin finished. "And we…"

Andre cut in, "The opera house lost a patron."

Shaking his head, the former opera ghost's first impulse was to bash their heads in. "What makes you think that you won't be losing another by keeping la Carlotta?"

"We cannot be sure that you will continue your patronage either way, Monsieur Windsor. Our interest is long term with la Carlotta, and although she may be…" Andre paused as he searched for the right words.

"Rough around the edges," Firmin diplomatically provided. "She also happens to be safe."

Dropping back down into his seat, Erik struggled with their line of reasoning. "Safe? And, you are categorizing Miss Daae as unsafe?"

"First let us say that Carlotta has been our leading soprano for eight seasons. She is for the most part…dependable. She is, shall we say…stable. Her security lies within our opera house. Miss Daae, however…" Andre struggled for words once more.

"Miss Daae is young," Firmin added. "She's beautiful, young, talented, and has her whole career ahead of her. It seems as though she doesn't know _what_ she wants, and loathe as I am to say this, we are on shaky ground financially. I assure you, patrons come and go, but we cannot afford to lose any more because of their personal interest in Miss Daae."

Seething inside, Erik wanted to argue, wanted to Punjab each manager, wanted to set fire to their establishment. Instead, he rose to his feet, outwardly calm and dignified, and gave them a polite bow.

"Thank you for your time."

* * *

"Oh…My…God!" Christine exclaimed in horror. She leaped from the settee in Erik's suite and began to pace in agitation, her emotions ranging now from anger to sadness, and then to humiliation. "I worked my butt off for twelve years for them!" she vented. "And I deserve the lead, Eri…Derek."

"I know," he replied quietly, feeling helpless as he watched his young love trying to come to terms with the news he had just shared.

"All this time, I thought they cared about me, with all their sweet talk. _You're brilliant, Miss Daae_," she mocked. "_The world is at your feet, Miss Daae_." Christine wiped at angry tears. "They didn't care for me at all! All they saw were dollar signs! They prefer that devil woman!"

She was naïve. Erik could definitely see that. The fact that the managers only cared about money couldn't be truer, and he believed that they thought of the whole situation as an investment, it wasn't personal. He might have told her that, but knew that it would not help.

Christine stopped dead in her tracks, a blush overcoming her cheeks. "Wait. They knew about us! How?"

Erik set his hands on her shoulders. "Maybe we weren't as careful as we thought and someone saw us, or they caught us on one of the security cameras…Either way, it doesn't matter now."

"It matters to me!" she said furiously, balling her hands into fists. "Maybe Meg said something…or, no, Meg wouldn't do that. Madame Giry…no, because I would have heard something from her."

Lifting her chin to meet his eyes, he hated the anguish evident in the magnificent dark pools of her eyes. "Christine, you have to let it go."

She was silent for a long while, her mind racing with the comments the managers had made. _Young, doesn't know what she wants, involved with two patrons… _Leaning into him, she threw her arms around Erik's back and broke into tears, sobbing uncontrollably.

Erik stood there with her, stroking her hair, cursing those imbeciles to hell, offering soothing words to his angel. It seemed an eternity that they were locked in an embrace when she finally pulled away, and looked into his eyes, her own red and puffy.

Christine cleared her throat, lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. "Well, I guess I have a decision to make."

* * *

A/N: Another update for you! Can't wait to hear what you think!


	26. Wicked Revelations

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any lyrics or any of the original characters contained in this chapter...

**Chapter 26- Wicked Revelations**

Curling herself into the large overstuffed chair, Christine eyed the phone number she had been diligent about keeping. Meg did not have a cell phone yet, and the number Christine was calling was a personal line to the Apollo Victoria Theatre. In anticipation, she waited as the third ring filled her ears. She needed to talk to Meg…now.

"Hello?" a friendly man's voice answered.

"Yes, uh, hello," Christine replied, "May I speak to Meg?"

The line was silent for a moment. "Who?"

"Meg. Meg Giry."

"Oh," the man's voice laughed. "You mean Marguerite."

_Marguerite_. The only time Meg was called by that name was when her mother was about to issue a sharp tongue-lashing. "Right," Christine replied. "Marguerite Giry."

"Hold the line."

Waiting, Christine sat back in the chair, gazing at the multitude of books in Erik's library. After the shock of the managers' news, she felt like there was only one person who would understand. Happy to give her privacy, Erik had announced that he had a surprise for her afterward. Now, she longed to hear reassuring words from the woman who was practically her sister.

"Marguerite here," her voice came across, out of breath.

Bolting up in the seat, Christine smiled. "Oh, Meg! It's me!"

It had been nearly two weeks since the last time they had spoken.

"Christine!" Meg squealed. "Oh my God. I am so glad you called! I have the best news!"

"Really?"

"Well, Galinda number one is sick with the flu, and standby number one had to have oral surgery, isn't that wonderful?"

"Does that mean…?"

"Yes!" she squeaked. "I get to play that part tonight! I'm so nervous, Christine. I don't know how you did it all those times at a moment's notice. But, I'm so excited! Oh, I wish you were here!"

Part of her felt giddy for her friend, and another part, a part that she was ashamed to admit existed, was green with envy.

"That is wonderful, Meg! You deserve it," she told her, her heart sinking just a little.

As Meg went on about how friendly the cast was and how everyone got along so well, Christine found that she could not trouble her friend with her own problems.

"So, how are you and," she paused for a moment, "Derek?"

"Fine, Meg. Perfect," Christine lied. Sure, she knew that things were going to be all right between them- eventually, but for now, it was still feeling awkward. Christine could hear voices in the background and Meg spoke, but it was not to her.

"Oh, Christine, I have to go. I wish I could talk longer, but we're going over blocking for tonight. I miss talking to you, Christine. I have so much to tell you."

"Me too," Christine replied sadly.

"Wish me luck tonight. I am so nervous! There are butterflies twiddling around my butterflies!"

Christine laughed. She certainly knew the feeling. "Love you, Meg. Break a leg."

Closing the large, heavy door behind her, Christine sighed, seeking out Erik. He appeared suddenly with a smile, emerging from his office.

"So, how's Meg?"

Christine resisted the urge to pout. "Terrific," she said, forcing a smile. "She sounds so happy."

"You miss her, don't you?"

Nodding, Christine felt her black mood deepen. "Very much."

He smiled a sneaky smile, and took her by the hand, leading her into his office. "I think I have something that might cheer you up."

Whatever it was, she doubted it, but she looked up at him gratefully. "Oh?"

"As I mentioned before, I have a surprise for you." Erik took a long sealed envelope from his desk and handed it to her. "I've had this planned, but was waiting for the right time…" He had been certain that by now, after his revelation of his true identity to her, that she already would have fled back to the opera house. While her lack of affection disturbed him, Erik was hesitant to force his attentions on her after all they had been through in the last twenty-four hours. For now, he was content just to have her with him.

Her eyes met the tenderness in his, and with a smile she accepted his offering.

"Open it," Erik told his angel, as her fingers seemed to linger, brushing against the embossed gold lettering of his name and address.

Carefully, she separated the seam with her index finger, and as she took her time, Erik's anticipation grew.

Lifting the contents from the envelope, Christine gasped, and her eyes lit up. "Oh My God!! Two tickets to London…"

"We have to hurry, Christine," he told her, pleased by her reaction.

Christine nodded, noticing the departure time on the tickets.

And then surprise number two. "We don't want to be late for Meg's performance."

* * *

Antoinette nearly jumped as she entered her quarters to find Nadir seated on her bed.

"What are you doing here?" she asked coldly. Her voice sounded a bit colder than she meant it to, but Antoinette was not about to apologize.

Nadir rose and stood before the woman he loved, knowing that though her posture was rigid, and her words could be harsh, there was still the presence of a heart somewhere inside that cold exterior. "You don't return my calls," he said softly. "Or my e-mails, but…" he paused as he looked to the floral arrangement at her bedside. "You accept my flowers."

"I've been busy," she bit out, now feeling tempted by the spicy scent of his cologne. Though she would never admit it, she had missed it…and him.

"Nonsense. You are not even in rehearsal for another week."

She avoided his eyes. "I'm working with the choreographer…"

"Antoinette…" he said warmly, gently lifting her chin to meet his blackish brown gaze. "Why are you avoiding me?"

Stepping away from him, she moved to her vanity, and seated herself. She met the reflection of the tired woman in the mirror. Bags, new wrinkles, stress…

He stood behind her, setting his hands upon her shoulders. "You can't stay angry at Meg forever."

"She is dead to me now," she declared, trying to make her voice sound more carefree than she felt.

"Meg has her own life to lead. I'm sure that she never meant to hurt you."

A stray tear fell from her eye. "All my life, I have worked to achieve what Meg has just thrown away," she began bitterly, "and when I became pregnant with her, I knew it was over for me. I gave her everything, Nadir. I lived my life for that girl, and for this opera house…"

Nadir leaned down and set his head on top of hers. "Perhaps, it is time you begin living life for yourself," he told her, stroking her hair tenderly.

Antoinette wanted to scream, and the tears that she had refused to shed flooded her cheeks with a vengeance. She wanted to belt her daughter the way she had when she was a child, on the rare occasions when she was disobedient. At the same time, she wanted to shield her Meg from the cruelty of the real world. But most of all, the harsh ballet manager just wanted to hold her daughter in her arms…her baby girl.

At least Christine was still here, even if she was with Erik at the moment. Antoinette realized she had a change of heart, and though she would have liked to see Christine involved with someone more her age, and mentally stable, she could see that they truly loved each other. When that kind of love existed between two people, it should never be trifled with, she knew. She had had a love like that long ago with Meg's father before he passed away. And her heart had shriveled at the loss…Sometimes she felt so lonely…

Wiping away her tears, Nadir put his arm around her, uttering soothing words.

Abruptly, she turned to him, her hands encircling the back of his neck, meeting his adoring gaze. It seemed she had been fighting her whole life- for her position, for respect, for love. _Stop fighting_, a voice inside her head urged. Then, possessed by the thought, her lips found his.

* * *

Front and center, Christine and Erik sat in the plush velvet chairs of the Apollo Victoria Theatre. Like a little girl, the ingénue could barely contain her excitement, her eyes taking in the large map hanging from the curtain. In detail, it displayed the various lands in Oz that Christine remembered from the movie, showing Dorothy's path from Munchkin land all the way to the great Emerald City. Above the stage area loomed a grand mechanical figure of a dragon.

"I'm so excited!" Christine told him, now turning her attention to the playbill. On top of the brochure was a small slip, and she gasped as she found Meg's name as one of the primary roles. "Look, Erik," she said, pointing, "Marguerite Giry as Galinda/Glinda."

In fact, he had taken notice of it already, and as his pupil continued to comment and ooh and ahh at the scenery, and other details, Erik was extremely pleased that they had made this trip. It was exactly what she needed to raise her spirits. And dressed in red satin, her silky curls playing about her cleavage, she was a tempting sight indeed. He could hardly keep his eyes off of her. "So, how does it feel to be on the other side of the stage?"

"I love it! I can't wait! But, just a minute. You probably don't know the story of the Wizard of Oz. See, there was this farm girl from Kansas…"

Erik interrupted. "I know the story- I saw it on TV. Dorothy arrives in a strange land when a tornado swoops up her house, and mysteriously lands on the Wicked Witch of the East."

In shock, she just stared at him. "You've seen it?"

He just laughed in response.

"I know you have televisions in your home. It's just that I thought they were only there for decoration."

A smirk hung on his lips. "I've been known to watch television from time to time."

With furrowed eyebrows, she looked at him curiously. "Really?"

"There are many things I do now that I didn't do before," he explained. "I'm not quite the man I used to be, Christine. I'm still me, of course," he added thoughtfully, "only better."

Over the past days, Christine had never really considered the emotional transformation that her music teacher had made. The more she thought about it, Erik was still the musical genius he had always been, but now it was as though he had crawled out of his cocoon, and a light was suddenly illuminated within his soul. His inner beauty now shone through as brightly as the sun. All of a sudden she found herself captivated by the sparkle in his deep blue eyes. "I can see that," she replied softly.

The overture began and the lights dimmed. Excited once more, Christine's breath caught as she turned her attention to the flying monkeys who appeared onstage, turning a large crank, and raising the curtain. The music reverberated throughout the spacious auditorium and a large black witch's hat became visible in the middle of the smoke-filled stage. Brightly costumed characters danced in perfect step, their voices meeting in heart-pounding harmony.

"Good news!

She's dead!

The Witch of the West is dead,

The wickedest witch there ever was,

The enemy of all of us here in Oz,

She's dead!

Good news!

Good news!"

"Look, it's Glinda," one man shouted onstage.

Wide-eyed, she watched as the mechanical bubble floated downward, and tugging Erik's sleeve, Christine pointed again.

"That's Meg!" she whispered, her pulse racing at the sight of her best friend, her blond head crowned, a large wand held gracefully in her hands. She was breathtaking in her gown, alight with sparkles, and the other characters cheered.

"Fellow Ozzians," she greeted, her posture tall and proud, but then Christine saw something in Meg's eyes, something that perhaps one would not notice if they did not know her as well as Christine did. It was panic. For a few awkward seconds there was a dead silence in the theater. The cast waited, their eyes darting around at each other as the music cued once more; then, to everyone's relief, their good witch began to sing.

"Let us be glad, let us be grateful, let us rejoicify that good news could subdue…"

After the initial scare, Meg played the role with animated perfection, the beauty of her voice soaring above the others, her presence stealing the scenes.

Completely entranced by the performance, the singing, the dancing, the music, Christine fell in love with everything about the musical, and the breathtaking finale of act one left her awestruck, tears welling in her eyes, overcome by the gut-wrenching emotion. She could not help being impressed by Glinda's rival, the wicked witch's character, Elphaba, and the actress who portrayed her. She showed such strength, such courage, and possessed a dynamic singing voice, a voice so powerfully impressive, it pounded in Christine's chest.

By the end of act two, to Erik's delight, not only had his young diva grasped his hand in hers, but had also laid her head upon his shoulder.

After curtain call, they found that it was not easy to get backstage to Meg, but once they were escorted back to the lovely blond, she screamed in surprise.

Erik watched silently as Christine and Meg embraced happily, jumping up and down like they had when they were girls.

"Meg! I loved it!" Christine exclaimed, finally pulling from her.

Nodding, Erik handed her a ridiculously large bouquet of lilies. "Breathtaking," he agreed.

"Thank you! I can't believe you're here!" she remarked to the smiling couple. "So, be honest," she said, vulnerable looking from her friend to her former tutor. "How did I do?"

Clapping her hands together, Christine hugged Meg again. "You were fantastic, and beautiful, and your voice was amazing, and you were sooo funny!"

Smiling, Meg looked to Erik. "So what did _you_ think, DEREK?" she asked quietly, as though his was the only opinion that mattered.

Clearing her throat, Christine said in a small voice. "Erik."

Meg's eyes opened wide as she looked to Erik for acknowledgement of his confession, noticing now that his eyes, no longer hazel but incredibly blue, were studying her carefully.

"Meg," he began, "I have never been prouder."

Her blue eyes filled with tears, and she threw her arms around him, silently thanking Erik for all his years of hard work.

A cast member emerged before them, snapping a photo of the three. The stage manager dropped by for introductions, gesturing Meg's attention to his wristwatch, then politely made his departure.

"I have to go change," Meg said regretfully. "This isn't my costume. We have to go over director's notes and take off this makeup. Can you meet me for a late dinner?"

Eagerly, Christine nodded, desperate to squeeze in as much time with her friend as possible.

"Okay," Meg turned around. "See ya later!" she waved, and buried her nose in the fragrant arrangement in her other arm.

Then Meg was gone, and Christine was noticing the stares that Erik was receiving from other ladies as the couple made their way back to the lobby of the theater. He offered her his arm, and with a smile Christine accepted it possessively, delighted that his attention stayed focused solely on her.

"Wasn't she great?" Christine gushed.

"She was magnificent," he said, his blue eyes twinkling. In truth, at this moment he still could not take his eyes off of Christine.

"Thank you, Erik, for bringing me here. I loved it!"

"This is just the beginning, Christine. We could travel the world, attend operas and musicals, see and do things you've never done before," he offered. As long as she was by his side, he felt like he could do anything.

Christine looked at him then, this man who had given her so much with his music, who had literally made her who she was today, and those deep blue eyes pierced her to her very core. Standing there beside her, he was tall and devastating in his black suit. He was so damned hot! "Erik," she breathed, wanting to run fingers through his sandy blond hair, down his neck, to the bare muscles of his chest, right there in front of God and everybody. "I want you so badly right now."

Erik blinked, looking at her dumbly, momentarily uncertain whether he had heard her correctly, but as he met the desire in those incredible eyes, he understood perfectly. "I'll get a cab."

* * *

A/N: Can you tell I love the show "Wicked"? If you haven't seen it already, you must! We are now making our way down to the final chapters. As always, thanks for reading, and to those who have left feedback, love you all! And to those who haven't, please feel free- I don't mind constructive criticism as long as it is not mean-spirited, or in the form of a flame. So, don't be shy, submit your review at the bottom :) And to any of you who think they have it all figured out already, I'd love to hear it!


	27. Dreams & Recollections

**CHAPTER 27- Dreams & Recollections**

"It's perfect for you, Christine!" Meg told her across the table, not even having touched her plate, a permanent smile affixed to her face. She still felt exhilarated from the performance, and the overwhelming applause, and if that had not been enough, her best friend and her former tutor had traveled all the way to London just to see her! Now that Christine was here, she realized how much she had truly missed her. "They're casting another understudy for Elphaba, and you'd be surprised how many times we actually get the opportunity to fill in," she cleared her throat, "from what I've heard."

Christine was hesitant, poking at her food with her fork, although she loved the idea of it. After all, her friend, Meg had proved to be quite the sensation. "I don't know," she said doubtfully. "That's a powerful role, I don't think I…"

"Nonsense!" Meg interrupted. She turned to Erik then. "Tell her."

He had been sitting silently as the two young women caught up on the past two weeks' events, and this was actually the first time he had been included in the conversation. How could he fault them? They were as close as sisters. Chewing, he considered Meg's suggestion. Swallowing finally, his gaze moved from his young beauty to Meg, and back again. "It's a bit below your range," he said honestly, " but it's possible. And you would make a wonderful Elphaba."

Christine felt her heart begin to pound with excitement. "Really? Me?"

"Of course!" the blonde squealed. "And Erik can arrange an audition for you just like he did for me. Right?" Meg nudged him as he took a bite of his steak.

Erik could see the glimmer of hope in his angel's eyes. At this point she had not made the decision whether to stay at the Opera Populaire or not, and the way he saw it, it was definitely time for her to move on. "Yes, I will speak with Robert tomorrow."

All of a sudden, Christine felt an army of butterflies seize her stomach. This would be a completely new experience for her, completely outside of her comfort zone. Time and time again, she had auditioned for the managers and directors who had come and gone, but the Opera house was her home, her safety net. And now, she reflected sadly, with Meg gone, and no chance of Carlotta leaving, things would never be the same again.

"Well, Christine?" Meg said, her eyes determined. "Or you could go back to being Carlotta's punching bag, or…"

Christine did not like the sound of that. She cringed at the thought of the primadonna's voice referring to her as her now ever famous nickname- _da steek_. "I'll do it!"

_

* * *

_

Flying monkeys.

_Erik found himself running from flying monkeys. The sky was peppered with the vicious winged primates, and they were after him._

"_You'll never get away, my pretty!" she screeched._

_Looking upward, he could see the huge image of Christine's face, her complexion as green as a toad, her teeth white, and her lips colored a bright red. "The mask!" she shouted, pointing a long fingernail. "Fetch me the mask!"_

_His heart pounded as he ran for his life when the force of two sets of claws dug painfully into his shoulders, halting his pace and leaving his feet to drag. Terrifyingly, another of the wicked creatures appeared before him, and with unusually long fingers grasped the mask and ripped it from his face._

_At once, the monkeys released him, allowing his body to drop to the ground. Desperately, Erik's hand met the marred flesh of his right cheek, leaving his disfigured face exposed._

_And all at once, the wicked witch began to laugh as he struggled to cover his face with his hands._

"_No!" he yelled, cursing her._

_He began to hear words then, words that were indecipherable, the witch's voice chanting, and then all at once he could see Christine's figure, shrouded in black, a pointy hat atop her auburn locks. Her green face was contorted with madness as she sat atop her broom, one hand making wide circles as she cast her spell. _

_His body suddenly felt heavy and round, and a thick sort of rope was attached to the top of his head. Oddly, he was suspended three feet from the ground. Meg appeared before him first, her costume sparkly and elegant, her hand gripping the wand._

"_Meg!" he called out desperately, hoping the good witch would assist him. "She did this to me. Help me, please!"_

_Her large blue eyes were sad as they looked at him, and she moved toward him ever so gracefully. "Why would I do that?" she asked simply. The pupils of her eyes turned to balls of fire. "I hate you."_

"_Meg, please…help me!" he pleaded, puzzled by the menacing look the blonde was giving him as she drew her fist backward, but just before she could release it, Christine appeared in all her green glory._

"_What do you think you're doing?" she asked Meg/Glinda. "Oh no, you don't," she said, pushing the good witch away. "I get first punch."_

_The blond was silent as she backed away, bowing with the wave of her useless wand as she acquiesced._

_The punch came hard and heavy from Christine's fist, and then there was the sound of her wretched cackling again. With the contact Erik found that his body swayed back and forth, side to side, and without arms or feet, he was helpless to do anything about it. With still a voice to speak, he pleaded with her, pleaded with Meg to help, but to his dismay, the possessed blonde beauty was only too happy to join her green rival. And as angry fists pounded away at him, Erik could only scream…_

He awoke finally to the feel of Christine's hands shaking him.

"Are you alright, Erik?" she asked, her brows furrowed with concern. "You were screaming."

Trying to catch his breath, he sat up, and slowly nodded to her beside him, his eyes noting that her flesh was indeed a natural skin color and not bileously green.

"I'm….fine," he replied, thankful that she had woken him up. Erik tried to lie back down again, and Christine settled herself back under the covers, resting her head upon his bare chest. At once, in his mind's eye, a familiar image flashed before him. The blonde's fists came at him with a vengeance, and he could feel the anger in her as he grasped her wrists. For some reason he could not make out the face…

In the London hotel that night, Erik was plagued by nightmares once again. Although at this point, with Christine in his arms, everything was right with his world, nonetheless, it didn't keep at bay the series of disturbing thoughts and images that haunted his dreams.

It was frustrating, a memory, he figured was trying to force its way back, but there were still too many missing pieces to the puzzle.

* * *

Later that morning…

Christine yawned as Meg gave her a tour of the flat she shared with two of the other cast members. Simply furnished in colors of beige and blue, it felt cozy.

"So, what do you think?" she asked, gesturing her to the sofa.

"It's wonderful, Meg. I'm so happy that you're doing so well with your new life," she told her, yawning again.

"Did _Derek_ keep you up last night?" Meg asked with a smirk, placing emphasis on his new name, and headed for the kitchen.

Her brown eyes became wide as she nodded. "Nightmares. All night long, he was tossing and turning, and screaming…"

Meg's head poked out from the kitchen. "Screaming? Erik?"

"He had a dream that I was the wicked witch, and that you were Glinda," Christine explained, "and that I had cast a spell on him, and turned him into a punching bag…and there was something about flying monkeys…"

Meg giggled at the thought as she returned with a tray containing two cups of coffee and a plate of blueberry muffins.

"Apparently, we clobbered him," Christine confided, her eyes tempted by the cup-shaped bread. "There was something else…" Reaching for a muffin, she continued, "He remembers a faceless blonde pounding his chest with her fists."

Her blue eyes opened wide as she sat, stirring her coffee. "Was this a dream?"

"No," Christine replied uncertainly. "He thinks that it's a memory trying to force its way back into his subconscious."

"Does he know who it was?" Meg asked.

Shaking her head, she looked to her friend. "No. I thought it could be Daphne, his maid, but he insists it isn't. And I just don't know who else it could be."

In truth, Meg did not know what to say. The whole subject, in fact, had made her uncomfortable. "How odd." Filling her mouth with chunks of the tasty bread, she was very curious to what extent Erik's memories had returned. Quickly, she changed the subject. "Is he talking with Robert now about your audition?"

Christine reached for her cup of coffee. "Yes," she said, sipping. "I didn't want to say anything earlier, but I don't know if I'm ready…"

Meg looked curiously to her friend. "Ready for what?"

"I don't know if I'm ready to jump into such a large role. It's so much all at once; a new city, new theatre…"

"Tell me about it…Listen, Christine, you just want to get your foot in the door. It's nothing like it was in Paris. Here they really appreciate you, members of the cast actually smile and like to have fun. And they don't typically cast understudies right off the bat, unless it's a brand new production. I just got lucky," she told her, peeling the wrap from her muffin. "If they cast you in a smaller role, like they did me, then you would have more time to prepare for the larger roles later on…"

Despite her aspirations at the Opera Populaire, Christine decided she really liked the sound of that. Nodding, she agreed, "You're right. And it would be such fun working together here."

"Absolutely," Meg agreed with a smile.

"Have you heard from your mother?" Christine inquired. Judging by the doleful look on Meg's face, she could see she already had her answer.

"She disowned me," Meg admitted tearfully. "Whenever I call, I get the machine, and she never calls back."

Christine set a hand on Meg's. "Aw, Meg, she can't stay mad forever."

The blonde laughed. "Maybe you don't know Mother as well as you think."

She was probably right, but Christine did not want to say it. The woman who had raised her could be quite unforgiving at times. Before she could offer any words of comfort, the ringing of the telephone caused both young women to jump in their seats.

"Hello," Meg answered, bringing the cordless phone to the coffee table.

Sipping the steamy liquid, she saw Meg's eyes light up.

"Mama!" she shouted in surprise and then her tone began to soften. "I'm so glad you called. Christine's here with me, and we were just talking about you…"

Hungrily, Christine devoured her muffin, watching as happy tears spilled from the blonde's eyes. Witnessing her best friend now beaming as she spoke to the woman on the other end of the line, she knew things were going to be okay. After a brief conversation with many exchanges of love and well wishes, Meg handed Christine the phone.

Happy to speak to Madame Giry, Christine relayed her news and Meg's success. The conversation ended finally, and to her delight, the brunette had been ecstatic to learn that her surrogate mother was no longer angry with Meg, and was planning on coming to London to visit her that weekend.

And an even bigger surprise: She and Nadir were engaged.

* * *

Erik's head was pounding when he arrived at Meg's flat. He was happy to report that the director would see Christine early the following morning, and quickly collected his young diva. His headache was so overwhelming that all he wanted was to lie down and close his eyes back at the hotel.

"Are you alright, Derek? Do you want to see a doctor?" she asked, concerned. His face appeared pale, and he looked weak as his body collapsed on the bed.

"I'll be fine, Christine," he replied as she joined him at his side. Erik kissed her on the forehead to reassure her. "Since my head injury, I've had many headaches, and all I need are two of these," he said pulling a bottle of aspirin from his pocket, "and some sleep. When I awaken later, we will practice for your audition, okay?"

Despite his assurances, she still felt worried, but agreed to let him be. She spread a blanket out over him and kissed him softly on the cheek. "I love you," she whispered in his ear, but by then he had already fallen asleep.

Hours passed as he slept fitfully, often groaning, and calling out in his sleep. Christine paced the room, her mind blinded by worry. True, he had had a bad night, but something was not right. Tossing and turning once again, he appeared to be plagued by horrifying nightmares, and Christine was unable to wake him.

Something was definitely not right; she could feel it in the pit of her stomach as she lay back down beside him.

* * *

She had no idea what time it was when she awoke to the sound of her lover furiously stomping through the room, opening his suitcase, and frantically throwing clothes in a hurried mess. It was not even light out yet.

"Erik?"

He didn't answer.

Flipping on the lamp beside her, she sat up in the bed. "Erik, are you okay?"

His blue eyes looked coldly at her. "I'm leaving."

"What? Why?"

Erik laughed then, a laugh that chilled her to the bone. "I can't be here right now, I've got to get back to Paris," he retorted gruffly.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked, rubbing her eyes in disbelief.

"Am I feeling okay? What a question!" he uttered with a snicker, madly stuffing shoes, socks, and shirts into the suitcase.

Christine rose from the bed, and made her way toward the closet. "Okay, I'll get my things and we'll go back…"

"No!" he shouted.

The commanding tone of his voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

Something was very wrong.

"But, Erik…"

"You stay, Christine," he told her sharply. "I am going back, alone." He threw down a pamphlet that bore the name of their airline. _Her ticket…_ "_You_ can return whenever you want to."

Christine approached him and set her small hands on his shoulders. "This is crazy, Erik. Why are you are acting so strange?"

He turned to her then, and her hands fell to her sides as she met the ice in his deep blue gaze. "Strange? Crazy? I suppose so."

Tears began to well in her eyes. This was madness, and she could not understand why he was behaving this way…so harsh, so coldly towards her. "Erik, what is wrong with you?"

Erik laughed again and shook his head. "Nothing. Everything. Christine, my dear," he said in a voice that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise, "I remember everything now. My memory has at last returned."

* * *

A/N: Well, we all knew it was bound to happen...Such a bad cliffie, so bad of me! Stay tuned, and while you're at it, please leave me a review!


	28. The Awful Truth

**CHAPTER 28- The Awful Truth**

It was early in the morning as Meg hung up the phone, having tried for an hour to console her hysterical friend. Christine had wailed to her that Erik had fled the hotel and was headed back to Paris…without her.

Miraculously, after a year and a half, the man had finally recovered his memory.

Picking up the phone again, Meg dialed a taxi, and the minutes seemed to drag as she sat in the cab, pondering their predicament. True, Erik had lost his memory, and it had been a mystery to him how it had happened, but Meg's recall of that night was completely intact. It was still painful for her to think about; a memory she had put away for months, and even when it did creep back into her mind, she rationalized how he had become all the better for it. As much as Meg would have liked to keep the recollection locked away and never have to think about it again, it was now impossible. When she arrived at Christine's hotel, and made her way up to the room, the only thing she could think of was that fateful night. For over a year and a half, it had been her secret, and hers alone…

_She remembered the first time she saw it in the window. _

_She and her mother had been window-shopping in a quaint town outside of Paris, and as they strolled by __an__ antique shop, Meg __gasped aloud__. Encouraging her mother to go on ahead of her, the blonde entered __the shop__, her pulse racing at her discovery. There on display on one of the glass shelves was a statue of a monkey, and she was amazed by how it appeared identical to the one that sat atop Erik's music box. How could she forget it, after all? After seeing it everyday since she was a child, there was no mistaking it. And now here before her very eyes was the monkey's twin, with its molded scruffy brown fur, and painted red vest with gold trim. Excited to have found this treasure, her eyes __feasted upon the __black piano the primate was poised to play. Unable to resist, she reached out to it__;__ the object sat on her palm, slightly larger than her hand as her eyes studied it closer. _

_It was not a music box, she realized, but rather a heavy figure made of stone. She would not have guessed its weight simply by looking at it. From a distance one may have guessed it to be hand carved, made of wood or even from a very thin metal, but this incredibly detailed statue's bulk was comparable to that of a bookend or paperweight._

_Meg was not fond of the monkey herself, but she knew that Erik would like it, and she could not ask for anything better. Tomorrow, she had decided was to be the day. Years had passed since the young ballerina had begun to develop feelings for the masked man. She had been careful not to show __them__, nor to confide her secret to anyone- especially not Christine. Meg wanted to show her tutor that there was more to life outside the depressing catacombs; to be the one to help him realize that not all of humanity was cruel. Love, Meg knew, between two people was the only thing that mattered. Of that, she was certain; she was in love with him. And this rather heavy figurine, this perfect gift, was exactly the right way to tell him. _

_Turning it upside down, Meg sucked in her breath, shocked by the price of the antique. It was half of one month's salary, yet she could not __resist __it. Carefully__,__ she carried it to the register as the gray-haired man eyed her curiously. _

"_You interested in this?" he asked doubtfully, and Meg was unsure whether he thought that the piece was not worth a second look, or that the price was far too costly._

_Meg nodded excitedly, opening her purse._

"_I've had this statue for years and you are the first person to show any interest. It's very odd, you know."_

"_How's that?" she asked._

"_I __did__ some traveling some years ago, and bartered for this intriguing monkey."_

"_Bartered?" Meg asked._

"_Yes," the old man laughed, his wrinkles more pronounced with his toothy smile. "It used to belong to some gypsies."_

* * *

_Remorsefully, he never saw it coming._

_There was chaos in the opera house. Once Buquet was dropped down from the rafters, Meg knew that it was over for the phantom. Erik had to get away from there. Still shaken, Meg scrambled away from the screaming cast members, away from the bustling crowd, and with the precious statue gripped tightly in her hand, she made her way to the lair._

_It was close to twenty minutes she had been waiting for him, having taken a back passageway. His gondola was not parked at the edge, and now she wondered if he had left the opera house…_

_Soon, the sound of moving water interrupted her thoughts, and she seated herself at his grand piano. The look of surprise was obvious on his face as he found her, still costumed __as a pink ballerina__, and his eyes darted to something she was holding behind her back…_

"_Meg? What are you doing here?!" he asked, puzzled._

_She blinked nervously and her voice became shaky. "I…I came to see you."_

_Erik's hands folded across his chest angrily. "I didn't kill Joseph Buquet."_

_The blonde only smiled understandingly. "We have to leave here, Erik. The police are looking for you. Everyone thinks you did this."_

_He approached the delicate blonde. "Meg, listen to me. You need to leave here...NOW!"_

_Tears began to well in her eyes. "No, I'm not leaving without you," she said, shaking her head, grasping tight to the treasure behind her back. _

_His eyebrow was visibly furrowed above the mask, as he must have learned by now that she was not a woman who was easily swayed. _

"_Meg," he began, "You must…"_

"_I love you, Erik," she blurted out, her blue eyes wide and vulnerable. "I'll stay by your side, and I won't let anyone hurt you."_

_His deep blue eyes widened in shock. He obviously had not seen this coming. Standing there, he was wordless._

"_I brought you a gift," she told him, rising from the piano bench, and wanting now to break his uncomfortable silence. She held the statue out in her open palms for him to see. _

_As she watched him __take it in his own hands, and then__ look upon the antique admiringly, he still did not speak. Her tutor, to her dismay, only stood there quietly. "Do you like it?"_

_She thought she actually saw tears in his eyes._

"_Meg," he breathed, overcome by emotion. "I don't know what to say. It's perfect."_

_Her small hands clapped excitedly. "I knew you would love it." She moved to him and encircled her arms around his back._

_To her shock, he jumped back, as though he'd been burned by fire. _

"_Meg, you are beautiful, and any man would be lucky to have you," he told her, placing his gift atop the piano. _

_The heat rose to her cheeks, and she shook her head. "I don't want any other man, Erik. Don't you see? We belong together."_

_He shook his head regretfully. "I love you, Meg, but not __in__ that way…"_

_She knew why. There always seemed to be something or someone standing in the way of her happiness, and now Meg could not suppress her anger. "She doesn't love you, Erik! Christine NEVER loved you!"_

_The opera ghost took a step back from her, shielding his ears from Meg's cruel words._

"_She's afraid of you!" the angry blonde continued. "Of your temper, of what you look like underneath that mask. Do you hear me?" she shouted, moving to him in a flash and tearing the covering from his face. _

_Horrified, __he jerked his right hand up to cover his deformity__, and reached for the mask, but Meg quickly threw it out of reach._

"_Don't you understand, Erik?" she asked, __pulling__ his hand __away__ from the marred flesh of his face. "I don't care what you look like. I love you just the way you are. With me, you wouldn't have to wear it ever again."_

_Her blue eyes pleaded with him, but his sad gaze cast __downward as he repeatedly shook his head__. "I'm sorry, Meg."_

_Meg's hands balled into fists, and she began to pound on his chest. "I hate you!"_

_Erik grasped her small wrists in his hands. "Meg, please…"_

_Struggling free from his grasp, she slapped him on his good cheek, and turned away so that he could not see the tears…or the humiliation…_

_"Christine doesn't want you, Erik."_

_The opera ghost moved across the floor from his blonde pupil, facing away from her, with one hand covering his face, and a shoulder leaning upward to cover __his right__ ear. His __left__ hand clasped his other ear, trying to block out her disturbing statements._

"_Right now, Christine is up on the rooftop with the vicomte. In fact, I think that Raoul is going to ask her to marry him!" she shouted spitefully between sobs._

_Erik turned to her then, as though searching her face for proof. He appeared to be visibly angered, and Meg scooted backward as he strode past her, and took a passageway out. And as the blonde retreated to the piano bench, she was certain of exactly where he was headed._

_Twenty-five minutes later…_

_Deflated, the phantom of the opera returned, his pace slow, his shoulders slumped as he made his way back to his home. _

"_Why are you still here, Meg?" he asked softly._

"_I was right, wasn't I?" she asked, hoping that Erik would now see her sensible offer. _

_Erik remained silent, and his lips were formed into a tight line._

_In a flash, Meg was at his side. "It's alright, Erik," she told him, putting her small hand on his shoulder. "You don't need her. You NEVER_ _needed her. You have me."_

_Shrugging the ballerina away, Erik moved far away from her, turning and facing the wall._

_Meg felt tears welling in her eyes. "What's wrong with you?!" she shouted angrily, sure that once he had learned the truth about Christine and her new suitor that he could forget her, that he could start a new life with Meg… "You are supposed to be a genius, and yet you can't see that the woman you love does not love you, will NEVER love you!"_

_He __kept his back turned, __once again covering his ears__. It__ seemed as though he really could not hear her biting words, which only infuriated her more. Humiliated and rejected, the blonde b__egan randomly picking up objects to throw__ at him, which __was proving __useless. __Sheet music and knick-knacks only landed on the rock floor short of him or fell in__ the glassy waters __of the lake__. __Now,__ more than anything, she wanted to hurt him; wanted him to hurt as much as she __did __at that moment. __Suddenly__, she __darted__ to the piano, and lifted the pricey statue. The only __thought in her mind was__ to destroy it. Grasping the heavy object in her hand, her temper got the better of her as she took aim. And__,__ in a split second, she threw it with all of her might. Once it flew from her hands, she immediately __regretted her action, but__ it was too late. First it hit Erik with a sharp __thud on__ the back of his head, and the opera ghost fell from the impact…and then the prized statue rolled from the cavern floor __to vanish__ into the lake with a splash._

_Wide-eyed__, and panic stricken, Meg knelt on the cavern floor by her tutor's chest. There was a small pool of crimson __oozing__ from the back of his head, and he appeared to be unconscious…and hopefully not dead. Berating herself for her hot temper__, she watched for the rise and fall of his chest. To her relief, he was breathing…he was still alive, and as she rose to a standing position, uttering __a quick prayer for Erik to recover, she fled as fast as her feet would carry her in search of help. _

* * *

A/N: I'm just curious if anyone ever suspected Meg- I've been trying to set this up in a very subtle way for a long time now. More to come soon. I'm waiting, as always, with bated breath to hear what you think...please review!


	29. Who I AM

**CHAPTER 29- Who I AM**

It was in an instant that memories of his years filled his mind like pages in a book. Disturbing memories mostly, memories that sent Erik teetering on the border of insanity; memories of a life without love, a life of rejection, of hatred, of death.

It was too much all at once, and he was drunk with rage when he fled London. Erik had been too distraught, too dizzy with madness. All of a sudden he could not stand being in her presence, this woman he had practically worshipped, and for whom, at one time, would have killed every man, woman, and child in Paris if it meant receiving her love.

And now he had it…

He had come directly home, lost between the darkness of the past, and the reality of the present. Before his reflection he stood, staring at the man in the mirror. Who was he?

Who was this man with the sandy blond hair and sculpted features? Who did he think he was, that he could assume a new identity; that he could simply start over with a new face, a new name, and smile happily at a world that had existed only to mock him…

It was NOT okay, he concluded, and as Erik shunned the perfection of the face in the mirror, he wondered if it would be okay ever again…

Carelessly, he grasped his remote, hitting the small blue button, and activated the mechanism that caused the entertainment center to revolve. His eyes rested upon the Christine doll that he had so lovingly reassembled, then he tore his gaze away as though he would be blinded by the vision. There, hanging from a hook, was the suit that he had worn that fateful night of Joseph Buquet's death. His gaze wandered the small room, and his hands tore through an assortment of odds and ends for no reason in particular, but paused over the locked box. Don Juan Triumphant…his opera, a dramedy now, at Christine's suggestion. He had locked it up the morning after he had confessed his true identity to her. Erik had not realized that in doing so that he had been locking away who he was. Quickly, he removed the lock, and pulled out the opera that had so tormented him. Feeling unusually calm, he brought it into the music room, the replica of the lair, and for the first time in the nine months that he had lived there, he truly felt like he was home.

* * *

Somehow, Meg had talked Christine into staying for the audition, which Christine felt now was a foolish mistake. Her whole life was in an uproar, the love of her life had left her, in a rage. Just how was she expected to give the best of her voice to a stranger in a theatre she was completely unfamiliar with? Given the circumstances, she did her best, but some of the notes came out unfortunately flat. She dared not care about that right now, not now, when her world was in shambles. That afternoon, she boarded the flight for Paris, and prayed, prayed for Erik's mental health, prayed for her own, prayed that God would see fit to grant them back the happiness that had been only recently discovered.

Erik.

He was her angel of music…her lover, her teacher, her friend…the other half of her soul.

Losing him again would be like setting fire to that soul. The first time he had disappeared, she was sure that her heart had died that very day. No, she told herself resolutely, she could not lose him again.

* * *

Meg watched, unseeing, as Christine's plane left the runway. She had done her best to console her friend, lending an ear in which to listen, and a shoulder on which to cry.

Meg had not told Christine about her own previous infatuation with their tutor, or how he had been injured. _Infatuation. That was all it had been_, she reasoned. Having lost her temper and thrown a fit comparable to that of a toddler, she had unwittingly caused the man serious injury.

It was unnerving, and though she had been careful not to show it, Meg had been a complete mess those first few days. It wasn't until she found the e-mail from Nadir to her mother that Meg finally came to terms with the consequences of her actions. Erik had amnesia, and it was all her fault. She had never meant to physically harm him, and even now she could still feel the sting of his rejection.

Erik had not wanted her. The man she loved had wanted Christine.

It had always been about Christine…

Now that his memory had returned, it was hard to predict what state of mind the formerly masked man had settled into. Things never would have worked between herself and her tutor, Meg knew now. Erik had saved her that pain. And now, because of her actions, there was no way of telling whether Erik and Christine's relationship would have progressed naturally had he not lost his memory. Her heart went out to her best friend. Drowning in a sea of guilt, Meg did the one thing she could do to help without ever leaving the airport. She made her way toward the payphone and pulled a phone number from her purse.

At this critical time, there was only one person she knew who could help.

* * *

His work had led him out of town for the night. Though, he rarely chose this type of assignment, he still took them on occasion, mostly for the money, but usually for his own personal interest. Being a private investigator certainly was less trouble than his previous occupation, and he found he rather enjoyed the freedom that came with the job. At the moment, all was right with his world. Antoinette had agreed to marry him, had, in fact, initiated it. He had waited a long time for that woman, waiting to share a life with her; he was a patient man, after all. Looking forward to accompanying his fiancée that evening to London to see Meg, Nadir scrolled through the images on his digital camera, making sure he had every detail of his case accounted for.

An unfamiliar ring tone startled him, and he flipped open his cell phone. On the other end of the line was his soon-to-be stepdaughter, her worried voice relaying the news of that morning.

Under the direst of circumstances, Nadir Khan had been known for his unworried nature, having the ability to stay emotionally detached and deal with matters in a calm fashion. But as the young blonde filled him on the details, Nadir found he had only two words for her. "Oh, SHIT!"

* * *

Rosa stood apprehensively outside the door of the room adjacent to the music room, startled by the sound of wild pounding on the piano's keys. His voice bellowed and echoed, and she winced at the noise of objects slamming into walls. The cook normally kept to the kitchen, as it was her job only to purchase groceries and prepare the meals, but today she was in a panic. The staff had been informed that Monsieur Windsor was to be out of town for a few days, and Daphne had taken the liberty of spending that day in the city.

It had not been the master's first rant, supposedly, but she had never before had to deal with it herself, and at this moment was very tempted by the idea of hiding in the kitchen's oversized pantry. One thumbnail rested in her teeth nervously as her other hand poised to knock, but before her knuckles could make contact, the door flew open before her.

His eyes looked wild as he ran fingers through his hair in frustration. "What?!" he demanded, slamming the door shut behind him, and then striding past her. _You've come to stare at the madman?!_

She was at a loss for words, knowing exactly how it must have appeared to him, as though she were spying. "I…I…wanted to know if…if…"

Erik stopped before he reached the front doors. "Speak, already!" he shouted to the grandmotherly figure, repressing his disgust at his own actions.

"Would you like some tea, or coffee?" she asked. It was as good an excuse as any.

Poor thing, he thought. She had been so kind to him these past months, always eager to please, and now his abrupt behavior had the older woman shaking like a leaf. What a fiend he was… Erik forced himself to mentally count to five, unable to make it all the way to the usual two-digit number. "No, thank you," he replied, his voice sounding much calmer. "I'm leaving."

* * *

A storm tore through the city of Paris, with pounding rain, and bright streaks of lightning. Christine removed the drenched hood from her head as she faced the woman at Erik's door.

"Monsieur Windsor left over an hour ago."

Christine's face fell as she looked into the brown eyes of the rotund cook. "He's gone?" she asked in disbelief.

This young woman with whom her boss had been involved had just shown up, soaked to the bone. Rosa could not resist showing Christine in. "Didn't say where he was going or when he was coming back," she told her as she headed toward the powder room, her voice fading as she slipped inside.

Christine glanced toward the music room, and though the door was closed, she felt drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

Rosa reappeared with a large, fluffy towel and handed it to her. "You don't want to go in there, Mademoiselle."

"Thank you." Accepting the towel from her, Christine's eyes met hers questioningly.

Rosa had opened her mouth to say something when the ringing of the telephone distracted her. "I'm going to answer that, now you stay here and dry off. I'll be back with some tea," she told her, her maternal instincts in overdrive.

She waited patiently as the cook left the entryway for the kitchen, rubbing her long wet tresses with the towel, but as soon as Rosa slipped out of sight, Christine moved to the room, and opened the unlocked door, gasping at the mess before her.

It had been a puzzle to her as to where else he would be. His former dwelling had been closed off, condemned. She thought for sure that he would be here at his home, brooding, or at least insisting that his staff not allow Christine in. Staring at the broken candlesticks, the pages of sheet music scattered all over the floor, the bench turned upside down, and various other items tossed about, the young diva realized exactly where to find him.

* * *

That song played over and over again in his head, the words were like the sting of a scorpion.

Meg had been right, he recalled, as he had indeed witnessed Christine and that ridiculous vicomte on the rooftop of the opera house the night Joseph Buquet had died, singing their declarations of love to each other. Now, anger consumed every bone in his body, poisoning every artery, every vein. He did not notice the icy chill of the water as he trekked through the dark lake leading back to his lair. And his heart sank as he found the ruins of his former home. Christine's voice was still fresh in his mind as she sang.

_"My god, who is this man, who hunts to kill, I can't escape from him, I never will, and in this labyrinth where night is blind, the phantom of the opera is here inside my mind."_

Determinedly, he found the lever, and found it required much more force than before to turn the wheel. Finally after much struggling, he opened the portcullis, and made his way inside, Christine's voice still playing in his mind.

_"Raoul, I've seen him, can I ever forget the sight? Can I ever escape from that face so distorted, so deformed, it was hardly a face in the darkness, darkness…"_

There was debris, some still floating on the lake, pieces of wood, candlesticks. Apparently, no one had cared enough to clean up. For what purpose, he wondered ironically. After all, who was crazy enough to want to come back to this place, with its depressing dampness, musty odor, and haunting stigma? This realization served him well, because there was still hope now, hope that he might find what he was looking for.

Amongst the piles of rubble, Erik had to edge along what was formerly the rock shelf, and a small hand-carved doll drew his attention. Picking it up, his eyes examined the upper half of the tiny Christine figure that he had created for his puppet theater. And even now as he looked at the carefully etched features, he could still hear her mocking voice in his mind.

_"All I want is freedom, a world with no more night; and you, always beside me, to hold me and to hide me."_

His first instinct was to pitch it into the lake, but still he held onto it, as he moved forward through the wreckage, and now to his disgust, the pair of love birds voices sang in harmony, so sweetly, so perfectly inside his brain that Erik thought he might want to slit his own throat.

_"Love me, that's all I ask of you."_

"No!" he bellowed, throwing the small figure with full force into the dark waters. His heart pounded, and as he fought the insanity that threatened to consume him, he forced those memories away.

* * *

She could still hear Meg's voice as she handed Christine the medium-sized velvet pouch.

"Give this to him," she had told her.

Puzzled, she looked to her friend. "What is it?" she asked, readying her fingers to separate the drawstrings and peek inside.

Taking it from her, Meg told her, "Don't open it." She stuffed it into Christine's backpack. "Make sure he gets this," she directed, her blue eyes as serious as death.

Christine had not questioned why. She had not questioned so many things. All she could think about now was making her way safely down to the lair, and with flashlight in hand, she moved as quickly as her feet would carry her, down the slippery flights of steps, her backpack weighing heavily against the muscles of her back. She was tired, physically and emotionally, and remembering now that the gondola had been blown to bits, she trudged through the cool water, its level meeting her waist. The portcullis was open, and her heart began to pound excitedly at the thought. The residents of the opera house were given strict instructions to stay away from the condemned area, and though some had tried, once the police had secured the portcullis, no one had been successful in budging it…except now, of course, for Erik.

It did not take long to spot him, and she could see the ripples of the water moving away from him as he plodded through the glassy waters nearby the rock shelf. He seemed to be feeling for something with his feet, and then bending down and reaching around with his hands. He startled her as he cried out in pain, lifting his hand to discover a long gash bisecting it.

"Are you okay, Erik?" she asked automatically, now recoiling from the deadly glare he shot as his eyes met hers. With his hair sticking up in different places, his blue eyes wild, and his disheveled appearance, he looked like a madman.

"What are you doing here?" he asked angrily, putting pressure on his bleeding fingers with his other hand.

"I came to see you. I'm worried about you," she said, moving in his direction through the water.

He waved a hand at her dismissively. "You have no need to worry for me."

"Erik? Please, I want to talk…"

Continuing his search in the water, he interrupted her. "I don't want to talk to you. Now leave," he told her brusquely.

Christine had endured his harsh words before, but, she wasn't about to run away now, and especially if there was a chance he might listen to what she had to say. There was only one thing that now she thought he needed to hear.

"Please listen to me, Erik. I love you…"

The former opera ghost stopped, and straightening his posture, he moved his eyes to hers once again, and laughed as though someone had told the most humorous joke. How could it be true? Now, he had begun to see the manager's point of view. She was so young…doesn't know what she wants…

She moved closer to him still. "What?! Why don't you believe me?" she asked, feeling tears welling up in her eyes.

"You," he began angrily, "were going to marry that ridiculous fop!"

Christine shook her head, now beginning to sob. "It's not true, Erik."

"I saw the ring on your necklace at the Bal Masque, Christine. I heard you and Raoul singing on the rooftop!" he yelled, his voice echoing loudly through the catacombs.

That realization gripped her like a noose, restricting the air from her lungs. "I was confused and scared that night about what happened with Joseph Buquet. We all were," she tried to explain, her body racked by sobs. "I didn't know what you were capable of…"

He turned away from her then, refusing to look at her; refusing to be affected by her tears. "You thought I was a monster."

Wiping her tears, she forged forward until she was behind him, and set her small hand on his shoulder. "No," she said calmly. "I doubt that I really believed that."

His voice became very soft just then. "You were going to marry him," he said again.

"No. I broke off the engagement. I loved you…"

Angrily, he turned around to face her, and her hand dropped back down to her side.

"You lied to him, Christine." He grasped her shoulders with hard fingers. "You told him you were a lesbian so that you wouldn't have to marry him. If you really loved me, why didn't you tell him _the truth_?"

Christine's face went white, and she felt her courage draining from her body. Opening her mouth, she found no words as she stared at his stony expression.

"That's what I thought," he said, removing his hands from her body in disgust, as though he had touched the most vile, slimy creature.

"Erik…" she pleaded again, but with no words to follow.

"I'm asking you now, Christine," he began, his voice returning to normal, "in the most gentlemanly way possible, to leave, and kindly, do not come back. I do not want to see you ever again."

Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Please," she whispered.

His voice rose loudly, and boomed through the cavern. "Leave!" he shouted, pointing the other direction.

She could barely see through her tears, and thinking that he would physically remove her from the premises, Christine turned around, and slowly made her way back to the edge of the lake. Her heart had been stomped on, crushed, shattered into a thousand pieces, and the only thing she wanted to do now was to hole up in her room and never come out. Pulling herself from the water, she remembered the backpack, and removed the velvet sack. Too distraught to care, she simply left it on the stone floor, picking up her backpack and hurrying up to ground level.

* * *

Nadir crossed paths with the upset young woman as he rapidly descended the stairs to the cavern. She would not speak a word to him, and when he inquired if Erik was down there, she only nodded, hastily seeking her destination.

Maybe I AM insane, Erik thought. Christine was gone. That was what he had wanted, wasn't it? She had left something for him, and as he tried not to be curious about what it was, he forced his thoughts away from her. He began to think about his new beginning with Nadir. His gaze moved back to the surface of the lair, to the bits of shattered glass, to the dusty, torn draperies, and seeing all the rooms that were caved in, he began to lose hope of finding what he was looking for.

On top of it all, he had considered what a complete fool he must have made of himself over the past eighteen months with his memory incomplete - an image of thongs, and Hawaiian shirts, daytime TV, and just all around bad taste flooded his mind…in spite of himself, he had to laugh at all of his crazy suppositions…his "composer money"…wondering if he had partaken in acts of perversion with his mannequin.

There were mistakes- going home with Carlotta had been one, a HUGE one, now that he realized that she and the woman at the bar were one in the same. Bile rose to his throat at just the thought of her lips on his…

But what was worse…how badly he had treated the daroga.

"Dammit," he cursed, his thoughts racing a mile a minute, once again turning his attention to the object Christine had left as he made his way to the edge of the lake.

He stared at the royal blue velvet pouch and lifted the surprisingly heavy object, his heart pounding now, wondering what it held inside. _Could it be?_

Hoisting himself out of the water, he sat and gingerly set the sack down. Hunched over the pouch, he separated the drawstrings, and to his surprise, found the very item he had been searching for. The stone monkey figure…

He did not know how long he had been sitting there, happy to be reunited with this treasure. It still looked just as it had decades ago, when he had admired it in the gypsy camp. Only now one of the piano's metal corners were dented, and the bottom stand had been slightly cracked. He had modeled the monkey music box after this very figure, sitting atop a delicately etched box. The piece he now held in his hands had inspired his first meaningful creation, the one thing that made him feel human in that God-forsaken camp where cruelty and punishment were the norm.

"What have you got there?"

Erik looked up, having immediately recognized his old friend's voice. "It's a treasure," he replied simply, his eyes returning to the figure, admiring the brown scruffy molding once more. "What are you doing here?"

"Rumor has it that your memory has returned," he remarked, looking down at the former opera ghost, wondering what Erik's state of mind was.

"It's true," Erik replied simply.

Considering the state that Christine had left, Nadir wondered exactly what had taken place. "Christine seemed in a hurry. What did you do to her?"

He kept his gaze on the figure and sighed. "I hit her with my monkey."

"What?!" Nadir asked, his blackish brown eyes wide.

"Gotcha," he said sadly. Looking up to his relieved friend, he had to ask. "Why are you here? No wait, let me guess, you thought I was going to revert to my deadly former habits."

"Well, YEAH!" Nadir exclaimed.

Erik was silent for a moment, cradling the monkey figure to his chest and sighed. Too many years of his life had been spent in anguish, hatred, and violence. He shook his head finally, and met the daroga's eyes. "No, old man. I'm afraid to say, the opera ghost is truly dead, and all that is left is me."

* * *

A/N: It was so wonderful to have your feedback last chapter, thanks so much! I know this chapter was a bit on the heavy side, but it had to be this way, and I hope you will forgive me and stay tuned, as we are getting closer to the end. Check back for updates. Please stick with me, and as always let me know what you think!


	30. Blonde Epiphany

**CHAPTER 30- Blonde Epiphany **

At Nadir's urging, Erik had finally left the ruins of the lair. With his precious stone figure in hand, he could not find a single reason to stay. It was dark, and the pounding rain had calmed to a slow drizzle as he entered his home and made his way to his favorite music room.

His deep blue eyes stared at the mess he had left in his fury. The pages of Don Juan Triumphant were now scattered, numerous candlesticks were lying broken on the floor, and even the cracked corner of the piano bench would require some repair. Erik had a tough realization to face. As Derek Windsor he had everything, a beautiful home, wealth, a successful career, respect, and Christine. He knew he could not go back to living as the morose being that he had been. For Erik, there were two things that he only ever desired: love and acceptance. The lack of those two qualities had literally been the cause of his temper, violent nature, and disrespect for human life. Instead of trying to gain respect, he sought to instill fear. Rather than earning money, he sought to manipulate. He had his reasons, of course, rejection by his own mother, and painful humiliation from most of the human race. Beyond everything else, Erik had wanted to be loved, without coercion or condition, without fear, or even out of blackmail.

But, how, he wondered, could someone who was unlovable be loved?

He set down the stone figure of his favorite primate playing the piano atop his own grand piano. Collecting the pages to his opera, he heard a knock at the door. With a sigh, he opened it slightly to meet the bright blue eyes of his maid.

"Since you're home, Monsieur Windsor, is there anything that you need?" she asked.

"No, thank you, Daphne," he replied, looking at the young blonde before him as though he were seeing her for the first time. It was just as Nadir and Christine had said. She had resembled Meg remarkably, and for the first time since his memory returned, he felt indescribably…normal. Just seeing the concern on her young features had triggered something inside him, and Erik felt the urge suddenly to laugh, an inexplicable feeling of joy burst within him. Shutting the door behind him, he smiled cheerily, and taking the now alarmed maid into his arms, he thanked her.

"For what? " she asked, puzzled. This certainly was strange behavior, unexpected, but not the unpleasant display of temper that Rosa had related to her.

"Thank you for…caring," he told her genuinely.

Daphne had always felt that it was her job to care, and had always had warm feelings for the man, but they were not anything beyond professional. "Oui, Monsieur," she told him, pulling away from his embrace.

She had reminded him of Meg…

Smiling, he turned from her, and entered the music room again. He moved to the piano and lifted the figure of the primate once more. It had been a gift from Meg. She had presented it to him that night with a declaration of love that had melted his heart. But, at the time he could not acknowledge or accept it for what it was, too blinded by the devastation of Christine's betrayal, and yet there was Meg, a blonde angel offering him her very soul.

No wonder she had been so resentful of him…Meg would have been content to love a creature such as he once was, without the mask, gladly, and still he had rejected her…She had been borderline hostile with him prior to her audition in London. Yes, now it made sense. Though he could never be one hundred percent certain how his head injury had occurred, after giving it some thought, he assumed that it was probably due to one of the objects that she had flung at him in her fit of rage. At this point, Erik could not blame her, would not blame her.

And now, he also realized that the man that he was had not been as unlovable as he had thought…

And he could feel the release in his heart, the release of anger, rejection, horror, and sadness; draining from him like the last grains from an hourglass.

Meg's love had set him free.

* * *

There she was on the other side of the mirror, his angel lying on her bed in a weepy, rumpled mess.

Erik had accepted her heart and thrown it back in her face, and now, he could barely stand to see her tears, to know that he had been the cause. Christine had told him that she loved him, and had shown him her love- even after he admitted to her who he really he was, even after all the lies he had told her over the years. After some consideration, Erik realized that when he had disappeared, Christine had been free to marry the vicomte. Despite the fact that she could not voice to Raoul how she felt about her angel of music, she had broken off the engagement. And Nadir had confirmed the young woman's turmoil by recounting the memory of Erik's funeral service; Christine had been beautiful, and her voice had been exquisite, but the light inside her had died. And the first time he revisited the Opera Populaire with his Iranian friend, the young diva had been so pale and thin…

Oh god, he thought to himself. _I really am a monster…_

He stood there on the opposite side of the mirror watching, just as he had so many times before, his heart aching at the sight of her. Memories of her lessons, precious memories filled his mind, and though before he had no idea how to straighten out this mess, he now knew exactly what he had to do.

* * *

She could not explain it. Christine had been wallowing in every past misery of her life when she felt it. It was like a faint doorbell inside her mind, beckoning her, calling her attention away from her present thoughts. _So familiar_…Her whole body began to tingle, and a feeling of warmth spread throughout her body, so soothing, so intimate- a feeling she had not felt in a very long time…

_"Christine."_

She heard her name, yet without it ever being spoken. Sniffling, Christine's eyes reflexively turned toward the mirror. "Erik?"

Only a moment passed before he entered, and she arose quickly from her bed, meeting the regret in his face, the sorrow in his eyes.

He lifted his hand to her cheek, wiping a stray tear with his thumb, and a sob escaped her at his touch. It was deplorable, the way he had sent her away, and Erik could see the evidence of her hurt in the swollen, redness of her eyes.

"Christine," he said softly as she continued to weep. "I'm…so…so," he paused, feeling tears welling in his own eyes. "Sorry," he whispered with a lump in his throat. His fingers moved to her long, tangled tresses. "I don't ever want to be apart from you. Can you ever forgive me?"

Wiping her tears, she turned from him. "I don't know. You _were_ a bastard, Erik," she told him, folding her arms tightly into her chest. "And you go on about how _I_ wasn't truthful. What about _your_ lies, Monsieur Angel of Music? And I haven't fully recovered from the fact that you let us all believe you were dead!"

Erik felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. She was right, and he had hoped that those were issues that they would be able to overcome.

"The director from London called," she began, "he said they had an opening for Nessa Rose, the witch's sister, and I am seriously considering it."

Oh no, it was too much. That meant she would be moving to London, far away from him, starting a new life…

"Christine, please give me another chance?" he pleaded, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I love you so much, and will never do anything like that ever again."

She turned to him then, and sniffled. "You _really_ hurt me, Erik, and I _don't_ think I could take it again." Her gaze drifted to the floor. "Maybe," she sighed, "we just weren't meant to be together…"

Erik's mouth fell agape, and his heart pounded in his chest. The words burned his ears like a flaming torch. _Maybe, she is too young. Doesn't know what she wants_. The managers' words echoed disturbingly in his mind. "Seriously?"

A smile tugged at her lips, and she lifted her eyes to meet his. "Gotcha!"

* * *

A/N: Okay, so we're not quite finished yet. I still have the Epilogue which I plan to post soon, so please don't forget to leave me a review!


	31. Epilogue

**A/N: My longest story to date! First, I want to thank my beta, Grannydaisytoo, for all of her invaluable guidance, feedback, assistance, and support! She is wonderful and this story would not be what it is without her. I would also like to thank Timeflies for all of her tireless support, chapter after chapter, feedback that encourages me to keep plugging away. Also many thanks to Mominator for her very insightful reviews as well as Bleedingheartconservative(read her story, it's awesome) for her very special comments, and helpful corrections & correspondences. I must include WhosThat, TheTerrierQueen (whose stories I also enjoy), Passed Over & Zeeksmom (thanks for sticking with me!),Angelic- Reader, Montaquecat, Zeeksmom, and Faithandlove for their feedback as well- I appreciate them all sooo much! To Taspira3, I will never forget the review you left & will always treasure it! There have been so many others I have not listed but still I am very grateful to. So here it is, the epilogue, at long last, and I hope that you enjoy it.**

**Epilogue**

_One year and a half later…_

Christine Windsor sat at her dressing room vanity applying makeup, humming along to the tune on the radio. Every inch of floor space was covered with a colorful assortment of roses, and as Erik entered, she finished outlining her other brow with a dark brown eyeliner pencil.

"Are you ready?" he asked, stress written across his face.

"Soon, my love," she said calmly, tracing a dusky outline of red to her lips.

He began to pace worriedly. "I'll send in Daphne to help you."

Rising from her seat, she stopped him in his tracks. "I'm almost ready, and don't bother, and you are making me nervous. You are not even performing!" she told him, planting a bright red kiss on his cheeks.

Erik looked at his lovely wife, her costume revealing her milky white shoulders, the lacy straps refusing to stay in place. At once his eyes were drawn to the tempting flesh of her cleavage. "You look beautiful," he told her in awe. After a year of marital bliss, he was still blown away by her beauty and talent, and desperately in love, Erik could not resist the pleasure of her body.

She lifted his chin to meet her eyes. "Down, boy," she told him, making her way back to her seat. Lifting the powder puff to her face, she smiled. "Remember, show time, fifteen minutes?"

Watching as she dabbed at her face with the white powder, he chuckled. "How can you be so calm?"

Christine could not help but smile. She could not recall ever seeing him this nervous. "Erik, everything is going to be fine."

He picked up the silk rose and pinned it to her hair. "But, what if they don't think it's funny?" he asked. "What if they want their money…"

"Bup, bup!" Christine silenced. "You listen to me, Monsieur Derek Windsor, everyone is going to love your opera. "Don Juan Triumphant" is going to be a huge success. I can feel it."

"But, how do you know? Tonight is opening night."

"I know," she began, fluffing her curls. "Because you are a genius, and everything you have ever composed has turned to gold." Christine resumed her humming and adjusted the white ruffle across her chest.

In a flash, he was at her side, unable to keep his lips from her neck. "I love you."

"I love you too," she said, meeting his lips with her own, reveling in his nearness, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his cologne, now wondering if there was enough time…

Erik pulled away, and his brow shot up. "Wait," he said, his attention towards the voice coming from the small radio. "That isn't…"

Smiling, Christine nodded. "Yes, that's Meg."

The former opera ghost shook his head in wonder. "Unbelievable."

"I heard that her single has now sold over a million copies, and now since she's signed another record deal, it will be even harder to reach her!" Christine said with a pout. True, she was happy for her friend's amazing success, but missed spending time with the newly acclaimed pop star.

"I still can't get used to that name…"

"Marguerite," Christine said with a giggle.

"It's not even Marguerite Giry, it is just "Marguerite"," Erik said, as if scratching the air, making quotation marks with his fingers.

"Oh, it's not so bad. It's like Madonna or Cher," she replied, "only she's Marguerite," Christine continued, making an imaginary rainbow above her head with her two small hands.

Erik stole a quick glance at his watch and gasped. "Ten minutes!" He began to take deep breaths as if to prevent himself from hyperventilating. "I've gotta go, break a leg."

Securing the pin to hair, she nodded. "Thank you. Love you."

He was already closing the door behind him as he called out to her, "Love you more."

Unhappy with the way the rose accessory sat on the side of her head, Christine removed it, unleashing some stray wavy locks, and picked up her comb.

The door opened again and Christine frowned at the blonde maid as she entered.

"I'm here," she announced, making her way to the leading lady, and removing the rose from her fingers.

"Daphne! I don't need…"

"Monsieur Derek sent me," she said insistently, already smoothing out a small piece of hair and pinning it expertly to Christine's head.

Christine smiled gratefully. Daphne seemed to be good at everything she did, and had proved her worth to their household time and time again since she and Erik married.

"Thank you, Daphne," she told the reflection of the attractive blonde in the mirror, dressed tastefully in a simple pink skirt and blouse, having ditched her former French maid garb at Christine's request.

"Oui, Madame," she replied, adjusting Christine's zipper in the back.

"Daphne, my name is Chris-tine. Call me Chris-tine," she insisted.

"Oui, Madame." Daphne continued to fuss over Christine's costume, her mind seeming to be elsewhere.

"Daphne?"

"Oui, Madame?"

Deciding not to correct her, Christine's attention turned to the abundance of flowers. "It seems to me that this boyfriend of yours is quite serious," she told her with a teasing smile. "Half of these flowers are for you…"

Daphne shrugged. "He is very sweet, Madame, but, I don't know," she sang, a blush beginning to fill her cheeks.

Christine turned to the blonde woman beside her, who was more like a friend now than an employee. "I do know. When a man follows you from Paris all the way here to London, he's got it bad. Tell me, Daphne. Who is this mystery man?"

A giggle escaped her, and she opened her mouth to reveal her suitor when a knock at the door interrupted.

"SEVEN minutes!" Erik's voice shouted.

"Okay!" Christine shouted back, standing and smoothing out her dress.

Daphne gave Christine a hug and a warm smile. "Break a leg," she told her, quickly leaving the dressing room.

"Thanks," Christine replied, and by now the curiosity was killing her as she watched the door close behind Daphne. Sneakily, she crept over to a particularly large arrangement of lavender roses, and peeked at the card. She just had to know! Quickly, she skimmed the writing, at once recognizing the De Chagny crest, and the closing to the tiny message read: Fondly, Raoul.

And Christine just had to laugh.

* * *

"Stop fussing," Nadir told Antoinette, taking her by the arm backstage, and pulling her away from the dancers. "You are no longer the ballet manager."

She met his blackish brown eyes stubbornly, "Yes, but still, I was just reminding them…"

Nadir held up his hand. "Your job is done," he told her curtly. "As choreographer, you don't wait in the wings to give further instruction. You are supposed to sit down in the audience and watch as they perform your work."

"But," Antoinette said uselessly. She was behaving like a mother hen and she knew he was right. "But…"

"But nothing," he refuted, his eyebrows furrowing tightly. "Now, let's take our seats. It's almost time for curtain," Nadir told her forcefully.

Antoinette was sure she did not like his tone, and one eyebrow shot up challengingly. "Or what?"

* * *

Grumbling, Erik made his way toward the wings, making sure the stage manager had things under control when he noticed that the heavy black curtains backstage were moving, and to his horror, he heard the sound of a female giggling. Impatiently, his hands moved the drapes to reveal Monsieur and Madame Khan engaged in a rather intimate embrace.

"Get a room, you two!" Erik nearly shouted to the embarrassed couple, grabbing his Iranian friend by the elbow and separating them. "Or at the very least, get to your seats!" he commanded, his blue eyes throwing daggers.

Shaking his head, Erik stormed away, sneaking a quick peek at his watch. _Five minutes._ Nervously, he made his way to his seat in the private balcony, and as the lights began to dim, he drew a very sharp and shaky breath.

The music began, and the singers shook the theater with powerful emotion, their voices rising like thunder. Christine took the stage, and his pulse raced at her beauty, the long curly tresses, the crimson of her lips, the seduction in her voice. Erik's fears melted like snow, and for the thousandth time, so did his heart at the sight of her.

_Don Juan Triumphant._

Four years in the making, this opera represented the madness that had once possessed him, and the transition that delivered him to sanity. It was because of Christine; she had been his muse, his inspiration to finish, the driving force that brought it to the stage.

And as Erik listened to the sweet music of the audiences' laughter, all was right with his world.

* * *

A/N #2: Okay, I'm dying here, so please leave me a review! So hurry and don't delay! I would love to reach 200 reviews for this story, so be kind (even if you've never reviewed before ) & click that submit review at the bottom.

A/N #3: Completely separate from that, at some point soon here, I actually have a "deleted scene" to post.


	32. Don Juan

A/N: Hello again! This idea came about when my beta (although happy with the story) expressed her slight disappointment that Derek would not be appearing in a surprise duet with Christine. The more I thought about it, the more I realized this could not work, and so here is the finished product. I hope that you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics, or Erik, or Christine or any of the original POTO characters.

**Don Juan **

**"**Past the point of no return- no backward glances. Our games of make believe are at an end…"

Truly, it was sickening to watch.

The man was perfect, an absolute nightmare. There he was onstage, tall, dark-haired, piercing green eyes, and a perfect smile. And his voice was a perfect tenor. What bothered Erik more was the man's sunny disposition- the brightness of his teeth as they gleamed when he smiled, his easy laughter as he joked with the other players onstage, and especially now how his eyes gazed upon his beloved Christine when he sang with her…

"Past all thought of "if" or "when", no use resisting, abandon thought and let the dream descend…"

This was the part Erik had come to hate the most- the seduction, the scene that he had created was brought to life by this man who now circled his wife like a hungry panther.

"What raging fire shall flood the soul, what rich desire unlocks its door, what sweet seduction lies before us…"

Erik sucked in his breath as the cad onstage took his innocent Christine into a daring embrace, inwardly raging from her traitorous reaction to the handsome masked man. It was too convincing, and as the actor continued to sing, Erik's attention could no longer focus on him, but rather on the woman who had once spoken vows before God to love, honor, and cherish only him. And the worst part had to be when she began to sing, her eyes meeting Don Juan's.

"You have brought me to that moment where words run dry, to that moment where speech disappears into silence, silence. I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why. In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining defenseless and silent, now I'm here with you, no second thoughts, I've decided…I've decided."

It was not just the words, but the way she sang them. Passion and longing were in her voice, and as his heart pounded with fury, he could not help be reminded that these were words she had sung to him, the invitation to their first kiss…

No, this was all wrong, he thought, and though he had witnessed their rehearsals before, now he could barely stand to watch. She was not simply playing some character in some opera. This was HIS Christine! And though Erik knew he should not have, he could not resist.

"_Christine."_

"When will the blood begin to race?" she sang, pausing at the voice in her mind, and then continuing. "The sleeping bud burst into bloom. When will the flames at last consume us?" Christine ignored the voice that she normally listened to with adoration, focusing on her role, the music, and her scene partner.

"_Christine."_

She approached the onstage staircase, and shot a stink eye to her brilliant husband who lurked in the vast expanse of seating. For this rehearsal, there were only the director, sitting front row and center, and Erik, who was towards the back. '_There, that should be fine now'_, she thought. He had to have gotten the point. Surely, now, he would let her rehearse.

"Past the point of no return, no going back now, our passion play has now at last begun…"

And then as she ascended the steps, she heard his voice once again in her mind, pleading and insistent.

"_Christine."_

Christine came to a dead halt while the music continued. Her expression was frustrated as she called out to the man who had authored this opera with his blood, sweat, and tears. "You have GOT to be KIDDING me!"

* * *

His dear little wifey was not speaking to him. Ever since they had arrived home the evening before, she had spoken not one word to him, having polite conversation with Daphne and Rosa only.

Even now, as they sat across the breakfast table from each other, Christine averted her eyes from his gaze that felt to her as heavy as a fur coat.

"Christine, please? Say something. Anything!" he pleaded, his plate of scrambled eggs and wheat toast completely untouched.

She could not think of a thing to say that would not result in an all out explosion. Poking at her own eggs, she shook her head resignedly. Calmly, she met his eyes as she slammed her fork down.

"Why?"

"What?" he asked like an innocent child, being falsely blamed for something that was surely a misunderstanding.

"Why," she repeated through clenched teeth, "did you speak to me in my mind- and during a rehearsal? We talked about that! We agreed that we would not interfere with each other's work."

Of course, the mental communication was one-sided, but still she thought she was making her point clear.

Erik began to look very uncomfortable. Suddenly he found that his natural ability to articulate had abandoned him. "I…uh…er…"

Christine's eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open in realization. "You were jealous!"

"No!" he refuted quickly, feeling color rise to his face. "I was just…"

"Jealous!" she repeated, her large brown eyes flashed with amusement. "You could not stand to see Ricardo and me singing our duet up on stage."

Damn! She knew him too well. Erik faltered. "It's just that maybe Ricardo isn't the best Don Juan…"

"That's a big fat lie, Erik, and you know it! Besides, you know I love you, and could never want any man as much as I want you. Don't you remember when I suggested that you would be the perfect Don Juan?"

"Yes," he replied in a small voice.

"And you refused because you are still not comfortable even now presenting yourself in front of an audience."

Hanging his head, his eyes examined the fluffy yellowness of his eggs. She was right. "I think I could try…"

All of a sudden, the woman he loved burst into giggles. "Right. Like that would work."

Erik sat up defensively. "It could work." He didn't like the way she continued to laugh, as though this was all a big joke. "I'm serious, Christine. Let me show you." He stood up from the table and held out a gentlemanly hand.

"You know what happens when we sing together, Erik."

"Trust me," he said softly, his deep blue eyes begging.

"If I'm right, then we'll keep Ricky, and you will forget this whole jealousy business," she stated with one eyebrow raised.

"Absolutely."

He led her to the music room and stole a glance back at her. "You call him RICKY now?

Christine rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up."

* * *

Erik pressed the button on the CD player. The music of "Don Juan Triumphant" began to fill the room. The track had been recorded solely with instrumentals, and as the opening began, the former opera ghost took his position, shooting a wink at his beloved.

"Now, remember, the man before you is not Erik. I am…" He struck a pose with his hands extended in the air. "Don Juan!"

She tried not to laugh in return. "Ooh ooh, and I'll be... Aminta!" she said, raising a hand to her forehead mockingly.

"Just you watch," he whispered, shooting her a glare as he waited patiently for his cue. Christine watched from the other side of the room, pretending to hold a basket the way her character, Aminta did.

"No thoughts within her head, but thoughts of joy, no dreams within her heart , but dreams of love," she began.

Sure, he could do this…no problem. "Passarino, go away for the trap is set and waits for its prey…" he began, his voice rich and beautiful, his confidence unwavering. He continued to sing, making his way to his exquisite beauty just as he had seen it done many times in the rehearsals, his eyes trying not to be distracted by the sheerness of her nightdress.

"Past all thought of "if" or "when"," he sang passionately. That's it, he thought. He was really feeling the character, the emotion, the seduction…And Christine all the while watched his every move, her eyes intense, her chest rising and falling so rapidly, consumed by his words. "No use resisting: abandon thought and let the dream descend." He circled the woman who posed as an innocent maiden, entranced by the way she stood there, the pools of her eyes filled with yearning. Cursing his weakness, he still sang, trying not to be affected by how bewitching she looked, how those luxurious curls draped her bosom, and dear God, the sweet temptation of her lips…

Coming up behind her, he pulled her backwards into his embrace, and he could feel the blood rush through his veins at the contact. "What raging fire shall flood the soul, what rich desire unlocks the door…" Breathing in the delightful lavender scent of her hair, his fingers moved to the soft skin of her neck, and up to her chin. He could see the lustful expression in her face, as it mirrored his own. "What sweet seduction lies before us." Managing to move away from her, Erik caressed her arm, then grasped her hand in his, moving his mouth to kiss the flesh of her knuckles, and overcome by temptation, his lips slowly inched their way up her arm.

Enticed by the feel of his lips, Christine tried to stay focused as the melody continued. "Uh, Don Juan? You are supposed to sing "Past the point of no return", remember?" she panted as his mouth skillfully reached a very sensitive part of her neck. "Erik?" she said, her eyes closed, and overcome by his touch.

By this time, he had claimed her lips, and pulled her soft body into his, and Christine found she could no longer think, or care.

A while later…

"I didn't even get to my part," Christine informed him, taking a drink of water from her cup.

"Please, give me another chance," he begged, giving the puppy eyes once again. "I'll behave. You'll see," he promised, taking her hand once again and leading her back to the music room.

"We made a deal."

"Please, Christine. I'm not some adolescent. I can do this, just please give me another chance. You won't be sorry."

Christine sighed and rolled her eyes. Maybe it was just the angst of the past couple of days. Perhaps, now her husband could control himself.

"Fine."

Everything was going perfectly, and she was amazed at how composed the man was as he sang the opening. There was still that hypnotic quality to his voice that made her weak in the knees, but she was professional, after all, and was determined to see this scene through. Surprisingly, Christine was able to sing her part, and as they both performed the scene, she started to believe that Erik was right. _Bye, bye Ricardo…_

"Past the point of no return…"

But, when their voices came together, and when their eyes met, Christine felt herself drawn to him like a magnet, and when the strength of his arms encircled her from behind, she was helpless to refuse. Breathy, his lips found her neck once more, and his hands lingered about her chest, and the melody still played, but with no voices to accompany…

A while later…again…

"Third time's the charm," he told her.

"No, Erik," she told him flatly. "Remember what you said?"

He grinned. "I said you would not be sorry, and if I recall correctly, you were not!"

Her mouth fell agape. "Erik! You said "absolutely"," she reminded. "You agreed that Ricardo would be Don Juan and you would drop this jealousy business."

Erik got down on one knee and begged, "Please! Just one last time! I'll be good."

Christine heaved a long sigh. It was getting late, and they were both going to be needed at the theater soon, but on the other hand, this Ricardo issue would need to be resolved.

"Fine."

Once again in the music room, he instructed for her to start the music, and told her he would be right back. And after she finished her opening line, Erik darted into the room, with something bunched into the palm of his hand.

She shot a questioning glance at him as he turned away. He was putting something on his face…

Shielding his face with his arm, he sang, "Passarino, go away for the trap is set and waits for its prey."

Her breath caught in her throat as the man that she loved beyond reason faced her with a black mask with two eyeholes that covered the upper part of his face. And as that voice sang to her, every inch of her body tingled. Amazingly, the mask had made him so appealing, so foreign yet familiar, so sensual that when he took her into his arms, she turned to face him, her eyes burning with desire, and placed her lips on his, stopping him mid-sentence. Christine finally pulled away from him after a long, achingly passionate kiss. "I want you so badly, Erik."

Breathless, he nodded. "You're right. Ricardo's in."

* * *

A/N: Okay, that's that! Please leave a review and let me know if you liked it. Also, I am officially accepting suggestions by pm or review for things within the story that you may have wanted to see, or that I didn't cover enough, or whatever... I promise to give each suggestion my full consideration, but please keep in mind, it will depend on whether I can think of something that works with your idea, and since I don't have very much time to write these days, my updates will be infrequent.

I am hereby keeping this story in progress, so if you are still interested in reading please keep it on story alert, or add it if you haven't already.

And of course, hit that submit review button already!


	33. Ryan

A/N: Hello! I'm back with a new installment, thanks to Bleedingheartconservative, who wanted to know about Meg's love interest. So taking a stroll into the past, the next updates will be focused in the direction of our poor, dear, sweet Meg, and her rocky road to love.

**Ryan**

"He's gay."

Christine frowned on the other end of the line, partially wondering if she heard her friend correctly. "What do you mean, gay as in happy, or gay as in…gay?"

Meg could hardly believe it herself, didn't want to believe it. "I mean, gay, as in he likes men," she responded plainly.

"I understand what gays like, Meg. What I want to know is why you've fallen for a man who is."

With a sigh, the blond shook her head as she held the phone to her ear and stretched her neck backward on the couch, making sure her conversation was safe from prying ears. "I can't explain it. And I certainly didn't plan it this way. We have the same interests, we can talk all night long, and perform onstage together…"

"Wait a minute!" Christine interrupted, relishing every bit of Meg's news, however shocking. With Meg's busy performance schedule conversations such as these had become a luxury. "Are you saying that your gay man is an actor from "Wicked"?"

Erik had been on his way to speak to Rosa, the cook, when he heard the voice of his fiancée say the word "gay". Pivoting on his heel, he entered the office to find Christine curled up into the large office chair as she cradled the phone to her ear with her shoulder.

Her big brown eyes were wide and her rosy lips were curved into a large animated smile. Furrowing his brows, Erik stood at the doorway, knowing he should not be eavesdropping, but was utterly taken by the subject matter.

"So which one was he?" Christine asked.

Nonchalantly, Erik made his way inside, making a beeline for his desk, and pretended not to be listening.

"Fiyero?!" Christine squealed, and Erik could not help look up as he sat behind the desk and shuffled some of his papers. "You're kidding! Was he the same one who performed the night we saw you?"

He was beginning to feel a little disturbed as his beloved rearranged herself on the chair, facing the other direction- away from him.

"No way!" Christine exclaimed incredulously. "He was much too hot!"

Clearly alarmed, Erik's feet scooted along the wood floor, moving himself and his chair toward the bookshelf behind where Christine was sitting.

"I never would have guessed!" she exclaimed.

His curiosity was killing him. "What? Who's gay?"

Christine did not answer, and only waved her nosy fiancée away, as his face was suddenly by her side.

Meg continued, "He was the first one to introduce himself to me. I was scared to death when I came here to London six months ago, and from the first time I saw those sexy brown eyes, I was hooked. I mean, the man is perfection, Christine!"

"Oh, I remember," Christine replied, scooting her head away and bracing the phone tightly to her ear. "The voice, tall, brown hair, handsome…" She turned to face Erik in response to the loudness of his gasp. Quickly she covered the mouthpiece with her small hand and whispered, "Not more handsome than you."

"You don't know the half of it. He smells great, he's a gentleman, and he dresses better than I do," the blond told her.

"Well, that doesn't mean he's gay," Christine said.

"Who's gay?" Erik whispered, now moving his cheek up as close to the phone as he possibly could, and trying to avoid the force of Christine's hand as she pushed him away.

"Show tunes…he knows them all," Meg answered matter-of-factly. "Did I mention that Ryan is from America? New York City. Anyhow, ask him any question about the theatre, about any stage performer, about any show, any lyric…"

This was quickly becoming more difficult for Christine to refute. "Well…"

"And nobody has ever seen him with a woman, and when I speak to him, Christine, I feel like he's really listening to every word I say…" _And not staring at my breasts._ Meg found that her pulse was racing just as she thought about him.

"I see," Christine replied sadly. "Damn shame."

Meg sighed. "You got that right. Anyway, I've gotta go, Christine. Ryan's taking me out to lunch and he's coming here to pick me up." She could imagine the sensual curl of his lips smiling at her.

"Meg, are you sure you should be spending so much time with him?"

"I know what you're going to say. You don't want to see me hurt. I don't want that either, it's just that Ryan makes me feel special, and…" she trailed off, sighing once more. "I can't stand not being around him." Since Meg had become the permanent Glinda, she and Ryan had performed together practically every night, and Ryan's presence had become like an addiction. He had made her feel like she was the only woman on earth, and so far had been one of the few men in London who kept his hands to himself.

"Okay, Meg. Be careful then."

"I will," Meg replied, smiling to her sleepy roommate as the petite brunette appeared in the hallway.

"Love you."

"Love you too."

Christine pressed the off button on the receiver, feeling troubled by the conversation. She missed her friend, and it was so good to hear her voice, but Christine couldn't just dismiss the feeling of worry she felt. Lost in her thoughts, she suddenly felt a distinct poking on her shoulder when she remembered Erik was still there in the room with her.

"What?" she asked impatiently.

"Love you," he responded carefully, sensing that their conversation and his prodding had already put her on edge.

Still not facing him, she rolled her eyes. "Love you too."

It was quiet for the next few seconds before Christine rose from the chair and set the phone back on the desk.

"Christine?"

She turned to face him.

"Who's gay?"

* * *

Meg hung up the phone, excitedly checking the time. Twenty minutes was all she had to finish getting ready, and after changing into fitted blue denims and a light blue tank top with lacy trim, she swept her long bangs from her forehead and pinned them with a barrette. Ryan had once commented how much more womanly she appeared now that she had let her bangs grow to her cheeks, and Meg was especially careful to accentuate her blue eyes with eyeliner so as to draw attention to what Ryan referred to as his favorite feature. As she dabbed a bit of perfume onto her wrists and neck, she heard the ring of the doorbell.

"I'll get it!" Meg shouted, hoping to reach the door before her roommate, but was too late.

Danielle, wearing a long nightshirt, was standing in front of the door with a cup of coffee in one hand, peeking through the peephole. Her short, dark hair was still disheveled from sleep. The petite brunette giggled. "Oh, it's Ryan."

"Yes, let me," Meg rushed between the door and Danielle. "Get it."

Brushing back her bangs, Danielle eyed her friend approvingly. "You look very nice, Marguerite." She leaned in close to Meg, sniffing. "And wearing perfume."

Meg put her hand on the doorknob. "Yes, thank you."

Skeptically, Danielle took a sip of her coffee, her other hand resting on her hip. "All this for Ryan, eh?"

"All what?" Meg asked, avoiding her eyes, wishing the brunette would disappear.

"Look at you, all dolled up. You're wearing heels and you _never _wear heels."

"Yes, well, I just want to look nice," the blond replied. "Don't want him to be prettier than me."

Danielle looked at her again with narrowed eyes. "Uh huh."

The doorbell rang once more.

"Well, I'd better get this…"

"Word of advice, love, he's gay," the brunette informed her.

"Yes, I know," Meg smiled, trying not to let the sinking feeling in her heart get to her.

At this, Danielle turned around and headed toward the kitchen. "Damn shame."

And as Meg opened the door to reveal a tall man with broad shoulders, her eyes took in the pleasure of his picture perfect features. Every strand of his chestnut hair was combed into place. Smoldering eyes lingered beneath thick, dark eyebrows, and sparkly white teeth gleamed underneath sensual, full lips.

"Hello, Marguerite," he greeted, handing her a bouquet of daisies as he always did, and her heart thumped even faster.

"Hello, Ryan," she greeted back, admiring how nicely his jeans outlined a delicious figure. His partly buttoned turquoise short sleeved shirt revealed long muscular arms, and as she invited him into the flat, Meg could imagine how those strong hands would feel gripping her shoulders as he kissed her…

_He's gay!_ She had to remind herself, and as she quickly placed the flowers in a vase, she couldn't help but think…damn shame!

* * *

A/N: There will be more. Please have patience with me while I try to find time to write, and of course, as always, leave me a review to let me know what you think :)


	34. Is He or Isn't He?

**Summary: Meg's fallen for the leading man, Ryan, during their production of "Wicked" in London, and has developed a friendship with him. She has been warned of his sexual orientation, as it does not favor the fairer sex. Will Meg break off this dangerous relationship or will she pursue her heart's desire? **

**Is He or Isn't He?**

Meg's heart fluttered as she watched Ryan spread a blanket between two long tree roots extending from the ground like miniature logs. The afternoon was sunny and warm, and the tall, thick branches served as a huge personal umbrella. He took the picnic basket from her grasp and set it down, frowning just a bit. Since they arrived at the park, Meg had not said a word.

"Is this okay?" he asked.

_Is this okay? It's beautiful and romantic… _Her gaze fell across his lean figure as he knelt down, admiring the muscular outline of his shirt. Busily, he removed items from the basket, reminding her very much of her own mind's version of Prince Charming…tall, handsome, gentlemanly… Nodding her head like a foolish, lovesick girl, she finally made her mouth form the words. "It's perfect."

He shot her a smile that made her pulse quicken, and patted the blanket beside him, gesturing for her to sit. "I know I said that I was going to take you to lunch, but it's such a beautiful day for a picnic."

"I love it," she told him simply, watching in amazement as he continued to pull containers, utensils, napkins, and cut fruit from the large, well-stocked basket. Practically drooling at the impressive spread, Meg was sure she had even seen brownies in one of the containers. He had everything imaginable, she mused, except…

"Wine?" he offered, removing two goblets from the basket and a bottle from its own insulated container inside.

"Please." It was all perfect, and she couldn't imagine that a woman could have packed a nicer picnic lunch. Meg accepted a glass of wine from him and took an eager sip. The sweet taste caressed her tongue.

"I hope you're hungry," he told her, removing the lids from the containers, and reaching for some serving spoons.

"I am."

As Meg's taste buds delighted in the chicken casserole he had no doubt prepared himself, she helped herself to a large, fluffy biscuit, and a bowl of crisp garden salad, selecting from one of the dressings he had packed. "It's delicious, Ryan," she cooed.

"This was my favorite meal back home," he told her. "I miss Mom's cooking."

"I think it's wonderful you know how to cook. I never learned, growing up in the opera house."

"Well, I have four sisters, and so I had to learn everything they had to learn. Cook, sew, clean, do laundry…"

"That's a good thing," Meg replied. Okay, the man had sisters, a heavy female influence. That doesn't make him gay, her mind argued.

"I remember watching my mom at her sewing machine, fascinated by how quick and efficient it was, and so much easier than hand sewing. Do you know what my first sewing project was?" Ryan asked, his brown eyes settled on hers, a glint lighting them like a fire.

"What?" she asked, losing herself to the intensity of his gaze.

"A quilt."

_Okay, that's not so gay… _"Really?"

He removed a chocolate covered strawberry from one of the containers and raised it to her lips. "Yes, and I loved it so much that I began to sew anything and everything, experimenting with different fabrics. My little sister was into dolls, so I used to make clothes for them."

Meg opened her mouth as he fed her the strawberry, biting into the delightful combination of dark chocolate and berry. "That's nice," she said. _And kind of gay._

Swallowing, Meg's mind struggled with the hard evidence, but still something inside her would not let her give up. "So, Ryan, back at home, did you ever play any sports?" she probed.

"I liked soccer."

_Soccer…not gay. _

"I was also a cheerleader in high school," he told her proudly. "In fact, I was the only male cheerleader on our squad. We competed nationally."

Her heart sunk as she pictured the man seated beside her in a brightly colored uniform holding pom poms, and wearing a wide toothy grin. _A cheerleader…gay._ "That's nice," Meg replied.

"For some reason, I was really good friends with the girls, but the guys," he paused, lifting his gaze to the sky thoughtfully, "not so much."

Gay…she thought sadly.

"But it wasn't until college when I got into theater that I found a common bond with other men."

_Oy._

Meg was sure she did not want to let the conversation proceed in this direction. Biting her lip, her eyes quickly turned to the only container that was still closed shut.

"Are those brownies?" she asked, desperately wanting to change the subject.

His face lit up. "Yes." His elegantly manicured fingers lifted the lid and gingerly removed a velvety perfect square. "These are my specialty. I call them Ryan's caramel brownies."

Just as he did with the strawberry, he held it to her lips until she opened her mouth and took a bite, closing her eyes as the melody of sweets danced in her mouth. "Mmmmm," was all Meg could say as she continued to savor the rest of the rich dessert.

"The secret is that you use evaporated milk," he informed her. "Not sweetened condensed, but evaporated. And I don't use caramel syrup, but actual caramel squares."

Meg nodded along. "Caramel squares," she repeated, wanting to kick herself for falling for a gay man.

An awkward silence fell over the pair, and she looked out at the pond, watching as a mother duck and her row of ducklings emerged from the water behind her. In truth, Meg wanted to look at anything other than Ryan at the moment. She did not want to feel one more pang of sadness every time she set eyes upon his chiseled features. He wasn't making it easy for her as she could feel him watching her.

"Marguerite?"

She turned to face him, and the sight of his sensual lips smiling at her caused her heart to skip a beat. "Yes?"

He locked eyes with hers, his gaze burning intensely. "I know I've said this before, but Marguerite Giry, you are going to be famous someday."

The blond couldn't help but smile. "Why do you say that? I mean, how can you know?"

"I can tell when I look into your incredible eyes. Sometimes I can look at someone and tell that even though they're talented and good-looking, that they will never hit the big time, but when I look at you, I can see it, Marguerite. It's there, this inner light you have. It sparkles like the sun," he told her, lifting her chin and forcing her to meet the warmth in his eyes.

"And what about you, Ryan Cooke, are you going to be famous?" she asked, mesmerized still by the powerful way he spoke to her, and made her feel like the most important woman in the world.

At this, Ryan laughed, dropping his hand into his lap. "No, my sweet Marguerite, I shall not be famous. I was meant to do what I do now. I perform in the theatre, live a private life enjoying my own small success, never daring or hoping for anything more."

"But why?"

"Because I'm happy doing exactly what I'm doing," he answered simply, meeting the question in her blue eyes.

Their eyes locked once more, and Meg tried desperately to identify the storm of emotions on his face. What was it that she saw? Could it possibly be longing? No, she told herself.

Maybe it was just gas…

But still, he had never looked at her this way before, and although Meg had sworn to herself she would not ask, now she could not stop the words from leaving her lips.

"Have you ever been with a woman?" she whispered, and could immediately feel the blood fill her cheeks at his reaction.

Ryan laughed loudly, falling backward into a lying position. At least a full minute passed before he sat up and faced her, noticing how uncomfortable she looked.

"I'll answer that if you answer my question," he told her.

By now, Meg wished they could just drop the subject, but she could tell by the stubborn set of his jaw that that was not going to happen. "I asked you first."

"If you want me to answer your question, you have to answer mine."

"Fine."

Ryan cleared his throat. "Have you ever been with a woman?"

Shocked and horrified, Meg said nothing. _Well, there was that kiss with Christine…_ She shook her head, unable to speak.

At this, Ryan chuckled. "I was joking."

Gasping, Meg swung her arm at him, meeting his shoulder with her fist.

"Ow!" Rubbing his shoulder, he chuckled and watched her face return to its normal pale color.

"Well?" she demanded. "Have you?"

He reached the half empty bottle of wine and filled his glass. "I'm not gay."

With wide blue eyes, she only stared at him in disbelief. Ryan filled her glass with the rest of the wine, but as she questioned whether she had heard him correctly, she burst into giggles. "You're joking."

"I'm not joking," he said, putting the lid back on the bottle. "I'm not gay and to answer your question, I have only been with one woman in my whole life."

Meg's heart began to pound wildly. She hoped that he was not toying with her. "One woman?"

For the next few minutes, Meg listened as Ryan told of his childhood sweetheart, Joanna. They had met when they were eight years old and since that time had become inseparable. The two had been crazy about each other, and their innocent relationship had blossomed as they got older, becoming much more serious. She had been his only girlfriend, and just before graduation, he had proposed to her. With tears in her eyes, Joanna had accepted, but her parents had convinced her to wait until after college to marry. For some reason, the last year of college they barely spoke, and although when they met again, he was still madly in love with her and ready to marry, Joanna had become engaged to someone else.

"And so that was it," Ryan admitted. "I had to get away from New York City. I couldn't be anywhere near her. I didn't want to be around anything that reminded me of her. I left my mom and dad, my sisters, even my cat, Fluffy."

"You came all the way to London?"

"I'd always wanted to see London, and found work easily, so now, four years later, this is my home."

Meg still could not believe it. "But, everyone thinks you're gay!"

"I know. After Joanna, I didn't want to get involved with another woman ever again, so when the rumor started, I did nothing to stop it."

"Didn't it bother you?"

"At first it did, I mean, what's so wrong about knowing show tunes? My mother and father were both actors in off Broadway productions. My sisters and I saw every musical there was to see, sang every song, and knew every word by heart. We were a family of performers. What's so gay about that?"

She didn't know what to say. It sounded reasonable. "Nothing…"

"And it's not like I talk gay or act that way. And I've certainly never been with another man!"

"I think it's that you are so perfect, Ryan, that it's hard to believe that you could be straight," Meg said, laughing.

Ryan set a hand on her cheek, caressing her jaw with his thumb. "I think YOU are perfect, Marguerite."

Her heart melted with his words and Ryan leaned close to kiss her. Meg's lips met his eagerly, tenderly, and months worth of pent up emotion brought the two together in a passionate embrace. It was exhilarating, and her head spun with the thrill of his kiss. This was the second time she had been in love, and now as the strength of Ryan's arms warmed her, she could barely remember her former tutor…Erik who?

* * *

Their performance was only hours away, yet Ryan brought Meg to his flat after the picnic. After all that had happened at the park, Meg still found herself in disbelief, somehow still doubting his sexual orientation. Holding the picnic basket in her hands, she waited as Ryan fussed with the keys in the lock, complaining that he always had to struggle to get it open.

He stopped for a moment and faced her, his face suddenly distraught. "Maybe this is a mistake."

"Why?" she asked. "I just want to see where you live. You always come to my flat."

"I know, but I hadn't planned this. I didn't expect to bring you here today, Marguerite."

"Well, if you're not comfortable with doing this today, then maybe another time…" Meg suggested, hoping that he would not agree.

"No," he said with a smile, turning and poking the key back into the lock. "Today is fine. I want you to come inside."

The seconds ticked on as he struggled with the lock once again, and for the first time, Meg actually felt panicky. Now, she was head over heels for this man, and if it wasn't really true, then she had no idea how she would recover. What if he was gay, she thought, but was experimenting with women? No, it was too horrible a thought. He can't be gay, she told herself, and as he finally got the door open, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek and winked, taking the picnic basket from her, and gesturing for her to enter first.

She walked into the dark room, wondering if she hadn't made a big mistake by coming here. Was she setting herself up for disappointment? He can't be gay, she told herself again.

Ryan flipped on the light, and Meg gasped as she met the sight before her. The flat was an absolute mess. She was certain that there was furniture somewhere, but she couldn't see it because clothing, books, papers, and mess littered every square inch.

"I'm sorry, Marguerite," he told her ashamedly. "I wasn't expecting company."

Delighted, Meg's face lit up. "Are you normally a neat person?"

He hung his head. "No, not even a little."

Ryan looked at the beautiful blond before him as she gaped at the filth of his flat. "I don't blame you if you want to leave."

NOT gay!

Suddenly, Meg began to laugh, unable to control herself, relieved that her heart was safe. "It's a pigsty, Ryan," she told him finally. She turned and shut the door behind her and encircled her arms around his back, giving him a long kiss. "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

A/N: So now we have our answer, but I can assure you there is more to come. Please encourage me to keep writing with your reviews! I do so love to hear what you think!


	35. Plans & Propositions

**Plans & Propositions**

"Three."

"Really?"

"Yes, three," Meg replied. Her elbow rested on the pillow and she was gazing dreamily up into warm brown eyes. "I would like two girls and one boy," she continued. "The first and last should both be girls."

Ryan raised two dark eyebrows in surprise. "Well, as long as you're not picky," he remarked sarcastically, a smirk playing about his lips.

"What about you?" she asked, watching as he lay backward onto the bed, leaving Meg's fingers to play about the mass of dark hairs on his muscled chest.

"I think that four would be perfect," he told her, his fingers stroking the long golden locks that framed her face. "Three boys and one girl. Not necessarily in that order."

Laughing, Meg met his eyes. "I should've known that you would want more boys than girls."

"Do you know how many times I wished for a brother?" he asked seriously. "You have no idea what it was like growing up in a house full of females!"

Now, Meg's face held a smirk. "I think I have some idea. But I know what you mean. I often wondered what it would be like to have a brother."

"It's settled then," Ryan said with a smile. "More boys than girls is definitely the way to go."

"Why?" Meg asked playfully, "So you have more males to teach how to sew doll clothes and sing show tunes?"

At this Ryan's jaw dropped. "Why, Miss Marguerite, you are quite the comedienne!"

Swiftly his fingers found her most ticklish sensitive spots, and after bursting into uncontrollable giggles, the blond begged for mercy. "Please, stop!" she cried, red-faced.

"Stooopp!"

"As you wish," he replied, with one eyebrow raised as he paused, suddenly taken by the beauty of the woman before him. In one fluid motion, the length of his body was on top of hers, and his lips trailed lightly along her neck.

She really wanted him to continue, but leaned onto her side, pushing him off. "I have to go, Ryan. It's late and I have errands in the morning."

With a deep sigh, Ryan fell backward onto the bed again. "I wish you didn't have to go, Marguerite."

Meg's gaze fell to the clock, cursing the late hour. "Me too."

"So how about you move out of your flat and move in with me?" he asked.

This caught her off guard and her blue eyes widened in surprise. She felt a surge of emotions flowing through her; delight, fear, apprehension, love, excitement… "I don't know, Ryan. I think it's just too soon."

"We spend practically every waking moment together, Marguerite."

"I know…"

"And my flat has never been cleaner," he joked. She didn't laugh though, and her expression remained serious, her blue eyes boring into his. "Do you think about it- about moving in with me?" Ryan asked, leaning his head on his open palm, elbow on the pillow.

"I think about it all the time," Meg admitted. "It's just that we might be moving too fast."

"Too fast? You're already telling me how many children you want!"

"I know…"

"Don't you want to…be with me?" he asked, and suddenly Meg felt devastated by the doubtful look on his face.

Since Meg had confessed her love to Erik, and had been rejected, she had promised herself that she would not be spouting that four letter word again anytime soon; certainly not until she was the one on the receiving end. "Of course I want to be with you, Ryan," she assured him. Her hands found the gentle stubble of his cheeks, and slowly her lips met his in a very deep, passionate kiss.

Pulling back from her, he smiled, and it was a smile that made her stomach do flips. "I'm crazy about you, Marguerite. He took her hands in his, pressing kisses to her fingers. "And I want to go to sleep with you at night," Ryan told her huskily, and leaned close to her, whispering in her ear. "And wake up with you every morning."

In truth, Meg wanted that too, but was very hesitant about taking such a large leap. Her heart, though, was warmed by his words, and by the gentle way he now took her into his arms.

"I'm not going to pressure you," he declared, running fingers through the golden locks of her hair. "Just promise me you'll think about it."

Clinging to him like a child, Meg reveled in the sweet, soothing comfort of his body, of his touch, and the tenderness of his kiss as he set his lips upon her cheek.

"I promise."

"Alright then," he said, giving her one last peck on her forehead. "I'll take you home."

"Are you packed?" she asked, rising from the bed.

"No," he replied, admiring the lack of clothing on her perfect form.

"Ryan! Our flight leaves at noon tomorrow, and you need to be ready…" she said frantically, pulling on her jeans and a sweater.

"I'll be ready."

The look of alarm on her face was unmistakable, and her voice rose with every word. "But you still need to pick up your dry cleaning, and return those dvd's, and …."

He cut her off, rising from the bed, and resting his hands on her shoulders. "I'll be ready," he repeated. Ryan could see the look of worry on the blond's face.

"I'm sorry, it's just that I'm so nervous. I've never brought a man home before," she explained. "And my mother is not always the easiest person to get along with…"

"I'm sure that your mother has a lot more to worry about than meeting her daughter's boyfriend," he assured. "She'll probably be more occupied with her wedding plans."

Meg nodded. "You're right. And besides, she's going to adore you, Ryan, and I can't wait for you to meet Nadir, and especially Christine."

"She's the one you grew up with, right? Also a singer?"

"Yes, and oh, you'll also meet her fiancée, Erik."

"Right. He was… your music teacher?"

Her eyes met his, and she gave a slight smile, nodding. "Yes, he was my music teacher." Meg had not dared divulge more information about Erik than was necessary. That had been a very private part of her life that she hoped not to bring up again.

"This is great, Marguerite. I've never been to Paris, and I can't wait to meet your family and friends," he replied, picking up his slacks that were in a crumpled heap on the carpeted floor. "I'm really looking forward to it."

"Really?" Meg asked doubtfully, as he took her into his arms once again. She had to wonder why anyone would willingly want to subject themselves to such scrutiny.

"Absolutely," he replied with a smile, gazing into her eyes adoringly.

It took Meg's breath away. She could not recall a time when a man had ever looked at her this way.

"I can't wait," Ryan told her, squeezing her tightly.

Meg loved that he was so eager to come home to Paris with her, and get to know the people that she was closest to. She found that she loved many things about him. Though his words were sweet and reassuring, she could not help feeling apprehensive. Facing him, she forced a smile and gave him a kiss. "Me too. I can't wait."

* * *

Somehow, Meg thought this would be a lot more difficult, but now as she faced Erik, she found that the small stab of pain she had accustomed herself to whenever she was around him had finally disappeared.

I'm over him, she thought. _Finally._

Even as Erik linked his arm through hers charmingly and smiled at her with those devastating blue eyes, she could honestly say it. _I'm over him._ Meg didn't question why he was pulling her away from the crowd at the reception, or where Christine had been at that moment, or for that matter, what had become of Ryan? Instead, she could only revel in the normal feeling she felt- that awesomely platonic feeling of friendship she felt as her former tutor smiled down at her.

"I can't tell you how happy I am to see you, Meg," Erik confided.

Meg smiled. "I'm so happy to be here, Erik. I missed you all so much."

He led her into his office, and gestured for her to be seated in the oversized leather chair. "Paris hasn't been the same since you left."

She let out an involuntary giggle. It was hardly like the man to be…complimentary. "And it never will be," she replied jokingly.

His face became serious, and the laughing look in his eyes disappeared. When he spoke, his voice was low. "Indeed."

An uncomfortable silence had risen between them, and Meg began to fidget, shifting around in the chair. "Only a few months and I'll be back here for another wedding," she said cheerily.

Erik blinked then and turned, moving behind his desk, and pulled something from the drawer. He sat down, holding an object in his hand, but from Meg's view it was not visible. "So are you happy with this…Ryan?"

Sitting up in her chair, she smiled, somehow wondering why she felt like she was being interviewed. "Yes. Very happy."

His deep blue eyes moved back to the object he was holding, and when he spoke, his voice was filled with regret. "I never thanked you, Meg."

"For what?"

Finally, Erik's hands raised the object into Meg's view, and the blond's breath caught in her throat at the sight of it. _The monkey statue._

"I never truly thanked you for this treasure," he told her softly, his elegant fingers sweeping the fine detail of the monkey's piano.

Perhaps, she should not have, but at this moment, Meg began to feel very uncomfortable. "Uh…you're welcome."

Erik stood, the statue gripped in his two hands, and moved to the front of the desk. Leaning back against it, he now faced her. "I've learned very much about myself the past six months that you've been gone, Meg."

Suddenly she felt tempted to run from that room, but her curiosity would not let her. "What have you learned, Erik?"

He set the statue down on the desk and met her eyes. "I've learned that I've been a fool. I owe you an apology for the way I treated you."

Shaking her head, she spoke, "It's alright, Erik, that was a long time ago…"

His voice cut in, "I've also learned something else. You were right."

Her brows knit together as the air in the room began to suffocate her. She shot up from her chair, her eyes turning away from his magnetic gaze. "I think Ryan's looking for me, Erik."

He was standing behind her now and she could feel his breath in her ear. "You were right," he repeated. With force, Erik spun her around to face him. "We belong together."

"No. I was wrong, Erik," she said, backing away, but he grabbed her wrists.

"Now that you're here, Meg," he said icily, pulling her into an embrace so tightly she could hardly breathe. "I can't let you go."

It started from the diaphragm and rose all the way up her chest and through her throat and finally past her lips; Meg's scream nearly shook her flat, and awakened her roommate, Danielle. Sitting up in her bed, Meg was sweating, and with her heart pounding like a drum, she realized with relief that it had only been a dream…

…A nightmare.

Wiping her forehead, Meg glanced at the clock. Her plane would be leaving in seven hours, and she fought the creepy residue of the nightmare. She could not help but wonder why she would have such a dream. Quickly, she brushed away that thought, and settled herself back in her bed. Breathing a happy sigh, the petite blond smiled. In just hours, she and her lovable Ryan would be headed to Paris. Soon she would be there to witness her mother's wedding, and once again be reunited with her best friend…

…And she truly couldn't wait.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much to those who have reviewed! Love you all! Next update will be taking Meg back to Paris. Hopefully you will hang in there with me while I work this all out. And of course, as always, leave me a review :)


	36. Paris, Sweet Paris Part 1

**Paris, Sweet Paris Part 1**

"So have you thought about it?" he asked curiously, gazing at the nervous blonde beside him. Her blue eyes were focused on the small window next to her, watching as she nibbled her fingernail absently. Since they boarded the plane, she had become a nervous wreck, fidgeting about with the airline magazine, and shifting around in her seat.

She was silent, her attention on the hazy clouds.

"Marguerite?" Ryan said, now elbowing her. He could see she was very distracted.

Meg jumped in her seat. "What?" She looked at her handsome boyfriend, her blue eyes wide.

"Have you thought about it? Is that what you're thinking about right now?"

Her golden brows furrowed together. "Thought about what?"

Ryan's head fell to the back of the seat, and he chuckled, though he didn't find her nervousness particularly funny. "Moving in together."

"Oh. Ryan, we only talked about this less than twelve hours ago. I promised that I would think about it, alright?"

"It's just that you look extremely stressed, Marguerite, and I thought that was why." Ryan leaned his shoulder into hers, and threaded his fingers into her closed grasp.

Meg looked down at his hand, and squeezed her fingers into his. "No. I'm nervous, Ryan. The truth is, I can't keep a single thought in my mind right now."

"Why?"

"This is the first time I've come home since I left almost seven months ago. And when I left, I didn't leave on the best terms," she confided, her eyes darting down to the pages of the open magazine on her lap.

"I thought you said that you and your mother speak all the time."

"Yes, we do, but there are some things that we just don't talk about, and it keeps things more…peaceful that way."

Ryan nodded understandingly. "I see. Like what?"

She looked up into his affectionate brown eyes, and was silent for a moment. Removing her hand from his grasp, she wiped her sweaty palms on her dark blue denims. "My mind is blank right now, Ryan. I can't think of anything at this moment. But later…oh, I just wish we could come up with some kind of signal, so that if the conversation is heading the wrong direction I could stop it…"

With a snap of his fingers, Ryan smiled. "I've got it. Have you ever heard of Pig Latin?"

* * *

Antoinette sat gracefully in her chair, sipping a cup of tea, her light brown eyes focused on the attractive young man and her dear Meg. Their bodies were surprisingly close as they sat huddled together on the loveseat, the pair's hands firmly clasped together. They appeared a very handsome couple, she noted. From picking them up from the airport herself to preparing a special room for her daughter's boyfriend to sleep in, Antoinette had taken special care to make things as pleasant as possible for them. One thing bothered her, though. There were only two days until the nuptials, and her daughter appeared nervous. Antoinette had no idea why Meg should be so off kilter.

"And so Marguerite and I became friends during rehearsal…" Ryan told her. He sat back on the loveseat, perfectly at ease, and in direct contrast to the petite blonde beside him.

A smirk settled on her lips. Marguerite… Meg's birth name, named after her grandmother, and the only time Antoinette had used it was when she was cross with her young daughter. It seemed ironic to her now that Meg had set off on her own, and begun a new life, so stubborn, so determined, and so like herself and her grandmother.

"How long have you been dating?" Antoinette asked casually, trying to remember her fiancée's advice to smile more and not seem so intimidating.

"Four weeks," Meg replied softly.

There was an uncomfortable silence just then, as Antoinette had no knowledge of this prior to Meg's phone call just two days ago. The former ballerina had not known how to approach the subject with her mother and had just avoided it altogether.

"I'm crazy about her," Ryan blurted out suddenly, startling Antoinette, and practically causing her to spill the contents of her cup.

"Is that right?" she asked, setting her cup down carefully on the coffee table beside her.

Meg said nothing, not knowing what to say, and before she could think of something, Ryan piped up again.

"She's going to be famous, you know?" Ryan informed Antoinette proudly, draping an arm around Meg's shoulder.

"Yes," Antoinette replied, and a penciled eyebrow shot up. "Only I thought it would be as a dancer."

At this, Meg's eyes widened, and a wave of dread washed through her.

"A dancer?" Ryan asked excitedly. "I mean, I always knew she was graceful, but I had no idea…"

Meg elbowed him, and smiled, whispering through her teeth. "Ix-nay on the ancing-day." After eyeing him to be sure he had gotten the hint, Meg spoke up. "So where is my soon to be stepfather?"

Happy to drop this sour subject, Antoinette replied, "He is working and will be home shortly."

"So how is the Opera House?" Meg inquired.

Smiling finally, Antoinette's eyes lit up. "I've been waiting to tell you. I've been hired at the Theatre du Chatelet as their head choreographer."

Squealing with excitement, Meg's large blue eyes lit up. "Oh, Mother! That's wonderful! When?"

The ballet manager suddenly appeared ten years younger as she spoke. "Their choreographer is retiring and I will take his place at the beginning of next year."

Meg burst from the loveseat and leaned down to give her mother a hug. "I'm so happy for you. And then there will be no more putting up with Andre or Firmin or Carlotta."

"I will be very happy to say goodbye to the Opera Populaire," Antoinette declared.

"Did you say the Opera Populaire?" Ryan asked.

The blond turned to face him. "That's right."

A gasp escaped him. "Do you mean that you work in the home of the legendary opera ghost?"

Meg tried her very best to shoot him a look of warning, but his gaze was settled firmly on her mother. She resumed her place at Ryan's side.

"I've heard the stories," he continued. "How his face is horribly deformed, and he covers it with a mask. He manipulated the managers for their money. And I heard that the opera ghost was known to haunt the cast members. Sometimes, he had been known for playing tricks on the audience."

"Yes, well, Ryan," Antoinette piped in, "the opera ghost does not exist."

"But…" Ryan tried to continue, but the annoyed voice of his girlfriend cut in.

"IX-nay on the OST-GHAY!" Meg hissed, elbowing him.

Antoinette and her daughter shot each other a look, now desperate to change the subject. The topic of Erik and his former persona was not one that she or Meg had cared to discuss. To their relief, they heard the squeaking sound of the door opening and closing. Rising to her feet quickly, Antoinette said very enthusiastically, "That's Nadir. He's home!"

Meg followed suit eagerly, noticing that Ryan's expression was anything but content. "Yes, Ryan, you must meet Nadir."

The very presence of the pleasant olive-skinned man seemed to be exactly what the trio had needed. After hugs and making their introductions, Nadir spoke with a fond smile, and took the seat next to his fiancée, her hand gripped firmly in his own.

"Erik has graciously offered the use of his garden for our wedding and reception," Nadir informed his soon to be stepdaughter and her boyfriend. "Nothing big or fancy…"

"But very nice," Antoinette finished for him.

"So," Ryan began. "How do you and Erik know each other?"

Nadir smiled, becoming uneasy already. "We've been friends for a very long time."

"Oh," he replied, content with Nadir's answer. He turned to Antoinette then, "And so will Marguerite's father be attending?"

It was both amusing and disturbing how one query could cause such a varied mix of emotions, and while Nadir's mouth stayed open, there was no voice to follow. Antoinette simply sat in her chair, her lips set in a line, and Meg elbowed the man beside her in horror.

"I'm sorry," he said, noting the expressions on the others' faces. It was certainly not his intention to make anyone uncomfortable. Ryan turned to the blond beside him. "It's just that you've never spoken of him."

"IX-NAY on the ATHER-FAY!" she hissed.

One hand quickly covered his face, and he shook his head. "Marguerite," he said finally, setting his hand on her shoulder. "May I speak to you privately?"

With a nod, the couple excused themselves, and Meg led him into the kitchen. With brows knit, her mouth opened, but before she could speak, Ryan quickly gave voice to his concerns.

"Just tell me this," he began, clearly frustrated. "Is there ANYTHING I don't have to IX-Nay?!"

* * *

"Charming boy," Nadir commented to Antoinette, alone in the sitting room. "What do you think?"

Antoinette's eyebrow shot up. "I haven't made up my mind yet. He asks an awful lot of questions."

"Meg seems very happy."

The older woman's brows furrowed together. "She looks so much like a woman now."

"She is," Nadir reminded, rubbing his thumb across the soft skin of her hand.

"I just hope that he is not trying to make my little girl grow up too quickly." In her youth she had toyed about with men, not truly realizing the dangers of playing with fire. The end result had been pregnancy, and then marriage. While Antoinette had no regrets, and truly had loved Meg's father, she wished for her own daughter to live life to its fullest for as long as possible without the constraint of child or husband.

"Meg is very smart and can fend for herself."

"Just the same, I'll be keeping an eye on him."

* * *

It had been a long day and after dinner with Meg's mother and soon to be stepfather, Ryan was exhausted. Meg unzipped Ryan's suitcase and began to unpack his things.

"You really don't have to do that," Ryan told her, rising from his seated position on the bed. "I'm a big boy."

Her eyes closed blissfully as he took her in his arms, her hand gripping two of his folded shirts.

"Yes, you are," she replied naughtily, dropping the clothing from her grasp, and letting her fingers wander the muscled contours of his body.

"Marguerite!" he exclaimed. "I don't think this is a good idea."

Giggling, Meg's lips wandered the stubble of Ryan's neck. "Why not?"

Taking his hands in hers, he took one step back. "I think that your mother doesn't like me."

Surprised, the blond moved toward him once again. "Nonsense!"

It was difficult, but Ryan did his best to resist his irresistible girlfriend. "She did not wanting us sleeping together. That's why she put us in separate rooms. I'm down here," he said, pointing toward the floor, "and _you _are upstairs," he finished, pointing toward the ceiling for emphasis.

Once again, Meg wrapped herself into Ryan's embrace, her lips meeting his passionately. Her blue eyes sparkled with desire. "Who said anything about sleeping?"

Ryan pulled away from her. "I'm serious. I just feel like we would be disrespecting her."

It was a sobering thought, but a smile curved her lips. "She would never know."

He nodded insistently. "She would _definitely_ know. I feel like when she was looking at me that she could actually get inside my head, and read my every thought. The woman is very intimidating."

Meg took his hand and led him to the bed with a chuckle. With a plop their backs landed flat on the bed. "Mother does tend to have that effect on people," she agreed. "But I noticed that she's definitely…softer now. I think it's because of Nadir."

"I like Nadir. He's very easygoing."

"I think so too. I think that he is exactly what my mother needs."

"So when are we meeting your friend, Christine?"

"Tomorrow before rehearsal dinner, she and Erik will arrive. I just found out that they've been away in London for a business trip. It's been months and I can't wait to see her!" Meg exclaimed, rolling onto her side.

At this, Ryan yawned. "I'm looking forward to it."

As gracefully as possible, Meg straddled him, her lithe bottom settled on his stomach, and kissed her handsome lover softly on the lips. "Thank you."

Puzzled, he only looked up at her. "For what?"

"For being here with me."

Ryan yawned once more. "I wouldn't miss it," he replied, half yawning.

Meg could see he was tired, but she could not resist, and claimed his lips with another passionate kiss. "Well, I guess I'll be heading up to my room then, all alone, unless you've changed your mind," she remarked suggestively, walking her fingers down a trail leading to his pants.

He grabbed her hands then. "You don't make this easy," he replied, yawning once more. "But I'm ready for sleep."

Slightly disappointed, she removed herself from the bed with a pout. "Good night then."

"Good night, then, sweet Marguerite."

Blowing him a kiss, she headed for the door.

* * *

"You're kidding," Nadir told her, his face aghast.

"No," Antoinette replied, thrusting a pillow and folded blanket into his arms. "I'm serious."

"And where exactly am_ I _supposed to sleep?" he asked incredulously. "The other rooms are taken."

"The office has the reclining chair, or the sitting room," she answered simply, now pushing her fiancée toward the door.

"Antoinette, this is madness. We've been living together for nearly six months. Why should you deprive me of your body tonight?"

"Ryan and Meg are here. What kind of example am I setting if we sleep together before we are wed while I have my daughter and her boyfriend occupying separate rooms?"

"But, in two nights we'll be married," Nadir countered, holding the doorknob so her hand could not twist it.

"That's right, my love. Two more nights and we will be married. Surely you could endure until then," Antoinette replied, with an aching note of finality in her voice.

"But, Pookie…" the olive-skinned man argued.

"IX-NAY on the OOKIE-pay, besides, your sweet talk just isn't going to work this time, Nadir," she retorted, turning the doorknob.

His dark eyebrows lifted. "Where did you learn Pig Latin?"

"I've been around," she responded with a smirk. In fact, it was Erik's and her little secret.

Her tone was playful, and Nadir had come to accept that there were many mysteries about this woman. Suddenly he was overcome by the urge to bring his lips to her neck.

Insistently, she pushed him away. "Good night."

Nadir knew that tone…and he hated it. But it seemed that she had her mind made up, and once that happened there wasn't much that God or anybody could do to change it. With a deep sigh, he took his blanket and pillow and set off to find a place to sleep.

* * *

Antoinette rose early the next morning, and the house was silent as she made her way quietly down the stairs. She had at least a hundred things to worry about in preparation for the following day's nuptials. Half awake, all she could think of was coffee, and would then prepare a large morning meal, but just before she opened the swinging door to the kitchen, her nostrils were already filled with the delightful aroma…coffee. Puzzled, she entered, her ears filled with the sounds of sizzling from a pan, and the comforting percolating of the coffee maker.

And then she saw him.

He was removing milk from the refrigerator, and turned around to greet her with a boyish smile. "Good morning. I hope you don't mind. I'm an early riser."

Her eyes widened as she found her daughter's boyfriend had been very busy preparing a large stack of pancakes, and a pan of scrambled eggs. And, he was wearing her beige apron with the lacy lining.

"Coffee?" he offered, pulling a mug from the cupboard as though he lived there.

"Thank you," she replied, still in shock as he poured her a cup and seated her at the table. There was a carafe of juice already out, and four place settings.

"Are you hungry?"

She added some cream and sugar to her coffee, wondering if she was dreaming. The way he had prepared things reminded her of a restaurant, and by the delightful smell, she could already tell that his preparations would be delicious. Taking a sip from her mug, Antoinette nodded eagerly.

"Good." With tongs, Ryan placed three oversized pancakes onto a plate in front of her. "You'll love these. I call them Ryan's favorite banana nut pancakes. I use pecans instead of walnuts."

Antoinette was certain that she would enjoy them tremendously as he set out to fetch a bottle of syrup from the pantry, searching one shelf and then another. As her taste buds reveled in the fluffy cakes, she could not help being impressed. Tall, handsome, polite, and he can certainly cook, she thought, as he set a bowl of eggs, dotted with tomatoes, cheese, and peppers down on the table.

"I've never tasted better," she said after swallowing.

"I just figured that getting married tomorrow, you have enough things to worry about," Ryan told her thoughtfully.

Right then and there Antoinette could feel her heart begin to melt. She took his hand in hers. "Ryan, I am so happy that you're here."

* * *

A/N: Hope this wasn't too confusing for any of those who aren't familiar with Pig Latin :) In case you were wondering, I am actually going somewhere with this, (although I can't say where), so please hang in there with me. Also, thanks to those wonderful readers who've reviewed, and I would like to encourage anyone and everyone to comment, even if it's just to say that you're still reading... TY Kelsismom


	37. Paris, Sweet Paris Part 2

A/N: Just a warning here. This one's looonger than my usual chapters. This chapter has just been too much fun to write- hope you enjoy it!

**Paris, Sweet Paris Part 2**

"Up."

"Down."

"Up," she insisted again, holding her long, light brown hair in a fashionable twist on the back of her head.

"Down," Nadir countered. "You know I have always liked your hair down."

Meg peeked in the room, finding her mother sitting at her vanity with her stepfather to be standing crossly behind her. "Have you seen Ryan?" she asked.

"No," the olive-skinned man replied. "Meg, won't you come in for a moment and give your opinion?"

Cooperatively, she stepped inside the large master suite.

"Now, darling," Antoinette began, "don't you agree that for the wedding tomorrow that I should wear my hair up?"

Tilting her head thoughtfully, Meg looked from Nadir to the bride to be. "I think that it looks lovely up, Mama."

At this, Nadir scoffed. "The woman asks MY opinion, but she doesn't really want it. What she wants is for me to agree with her."

That very moment, Ryan peeked his head in. "Were you looking for me?"

"Yes," Meg replied, waving him inside. "Apparently there's a disagreement."

"Maybe you can help," Antoinette suggested.

"I would be very happy to." With long strides, Ryan entered the room, watching as Meg's mother pinned the twist in her hair with a large barrette.

"Now then," Nadir began, winking conspiratorially, confident now that he had another male in the room. "Antoinette thinks that tomorrow she should wear her hair up, but I think that she should wear it down."

He moved behind her, with arms folded, his heavy brown gaze examining the woman seated in front of him. "It's beautiful up. Sophisticated, timeless…"

Antoinette's face lit up, and a frown overtook Nadir's lips.

"However," Ryan continued, "May I?" he asked, his fingers brushing the silky long brown strands tentatively.

Mesmerized, the trio watched as the handsome young man took to Antoinette's hair with the cool expertise of a hairdresser. With much care, he removed the barrette and handed it to the older woman, and continued to comb through the long locks with gentle fingers.

"Now," he cooed, "imagine elegant curls cascading down your shoulders, and how sexy and feminine each silky tendril will appear as they grace your delicate features. Why, Antoinette, you look fifteen years younger."

To Nadir's surprise, his fiancée actually giggled.

Antoinette turned to Ryan with a girlish smile and tapped him lightly on the arm. "You must call me Mamma Giry."

"Mamma Giry?" Meg repeated, her face showing complete shock.

"Very well then, Mamma Giry," Ryan agreed with a smile, his teeth gleaming.

"Excuse me," Nadir piped in. "Need I remind you that tomorrow you will become Mrs. Khan?"

Still admiring her own reflection, Antoinette nodded. "You're absolutely right," she said after a moment of thought. Her eyes met Ryan's. "You must simply call me Mamma."

Nadir's mouth dropped open. "And so," he asked bitterly. "What's it going to be? Up or down?"

Curling some hair around her fingers, the bride to be smiled. "Definitely down."

The groom to be felt his jaw drop once again.

* * *

"I can't wait to see Meg!" Christine said excitedly, her small hands clapping together.

They had just arrived back in from London, and after collecting their baggage, and picking up their car, they were making the twenty-minute drive to Nadir and Antoinette's home on the outskirts of Paris.

"Yes," Erik agreed. "It will be wonderful to see her again, and meet this gay boyfriend of hers."

Christine rolled her eyes. "He's not gay!"

"Wait, are you sure?"

"Yes, remember, I told you that Ryan is Meg's boyfriend?"

"So, he's a friend who is a boy."

"No," Christine corrected, as she gazed at the lush green scenery through the car window. "He is not gay, and he and Meg are in a relationship."

Erik's brows knit together in confusion. "Really?"

"Yes."

"I thought you said that Meg said that he was gay."

With a sigh, Christine's brown eyes turned tiredly to Erik as he drove. "Meg said that she _thought_ he was gay, but he really wasn't."

"So, he's NOT gay?"

"No."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes!" she said with a laugh, playfully hitting him on the arm with a small fist.

"Well, this should be fun," Erik replied, smiling and winking at the beauty beside him.

"And please, it's embarrassing enough for poor Meg. Don't mention anything about Ryan being gay."

Erik couldn't resist. "So he _is_ gay then?"

"No!"

* * *

Antoinette was in tears, and as she made her way through the rooms, she could not seem to find her daughter. Nadir had been sent out to do errands, and frustrated, the ballet manager wondered how for years she had always been so in control of everything in her life, and yet now things were beginning to fall apart at the seams, and just one day before her wedding.

"Meg?" she called out uselessly. This was a disaster and she felt so alone. The caterer still needed to be phoned, the count finalized, and the address needed to be confirmed with the bakery. The centerpieces had not been arranged yet, and at this point there was still no photographer. Too many details needed to be tended to, and she just could not deal with this at the moment.

Finally, she collapsed into her chair in the sitting room, allowing her tears to flow.

"Mamma?"

She sat up stiffly at the sound of Ryan's voice, and quickly wiped at her tears.

"There you are," he said, entering. "Meg went with Nadir. They said they would be back shortly." It didn't take long for him to register the upset on Antoinette's face. "What's wrong?"

She covered her face with her hands, suddenly feeling like a big baby. "Nothing. Everything."

A frown fell across his handsome features, and quickly Ryan was at her side. "Tell Ryan what's wrong."

"The wedding is off," she stated plainly.

A loud gasp escaped Ryan's mouth. "What? Why?"

"My dress, Ryan, it's ruined."

Patiently he listened as Antoinette explained that she had gotten her dress back from the tailor three days prior, but had waited until minutes ago to try it on with her new heels. The front had been longer than expected, and when she took a step forward, her pointed shoe caught the delicate lacy edging, effectively delivering a long rip across the hem. She cried now openly because her tailor was out of town, and there was no time to find another dress with rehearsal dinner only hours away, and the wedding taking place the next morning. Advising the older woman to calm herself, he took her elbow, helping Antoinette to her feet, and asked her to lead him to the garment.

Tears continued to pour down Antoinette's face as her daughter's boyfriend continued to inspect the damaged hem, his expression of seriousness now confirming the terrible damage. "Isn't it horrible?" she asked.

Ryan held the gown in his hands, running fingers along the damaged edges. Determinedly, he raised his brown eyes to hers. "Do you have a sewing machine?"

* * *

Meg appeared at the doorway, finding her boyfriend busily working at the sewing machine, just as her mother had told her. With an excited squeal she bounced in, much like a little girl, and hugged the handsome man as he worked.

"You're a lifesaver, Ryan!"

He winked. "No trouble at all," he replied with a smile, releasing his foot from the pedal. The whirring of the machine died down quickly.

She held a closed fist before him. "We stopped and got some of my favorite candy!" Opening her palm, she revealed five different solid colored balls, bigger than a large gumball. "Take one."

His fingers reached for a yellow one in the middle of her palm. "Thank you," he told her, popping it into his mouth.

"Don't…" She tried to warn him that it was a hard candy, but it was too late, he had already bitten down, and now had a painful snarl on his lips. "…bite down," she finished uselessly.

"Ow," he said, spitting out the yellow candy into his palm. "I bit my thongue- really hard."

Meg gasped as she saw the yellow-coated candy was covered with red. "Ryan, you're bleeding!" she exclaimed. She took his arm in hers, kissing him on the cheek. "Let's get that taken care of."

* * *

"Here he is!" Meg said proudly, pointing to the man who was valiantly saving her mother's wedding. Erik and Christine had just arrived, and Meg had been overjoyed to be reunited with Christine, who looked very much the same, only happier. Meg even found that she was not uncomfortable around Erik, especially after that disturbing dream that she had. Rushing through greetings, the former dancer quickly led the pair to the sitting room to meet Ryan.

Erik raised an eyebrow as he watched the younger man poised at the sewing machine, his hands covered with lace. Christine simply smiled, her mind suddenly recalling the exceptional handsomeness of his face.

"Ryan?" Meg said louder, trying to speak over the loud whirring of the sewing machine. She gestured Erik and Christine in, and finally Ryan's attention turned upward. His face lit up with a smile, and eagerly he released the pedal, and stood to greet the two visitors.

"Ryan, this is my best friend in the whole world, Christine," Meg gestured to the attractive brunette, who only stood still with a silly grin on her face.

"At latht!" Ryan said, shaking her hand. "Chrithtine, I've heard tho much about you! You're jutht ath beautiful ath Marguerite thaid."

Speechless, Christine only smiled, gazing into his warm brown eyes.

"This is Erik," Meg continued, and cleared her throat uncomfortably. She didn't know why this moment should make her feel uneasy.

"The muthic teacher! Yeth! I've heard great thingth about you ath well, Erik," Ryan said, meeting Erik's puzzled deep blue eyes. Without hesitation, he engaged him in a firm handshake. "You've done a wonderful job with Marguerite. Thee thingth like a bird."

"So," Erik began, "you're the gay that Meg is seeing."

Christine's mouth dropped and she elbowed him hard.

Catching his error, Erik's eyes widened. "Guy," he corrected. "You're the guy that Meg is seeing."

"Thatth right," Ryan agreed.

"Why don't you take a break, Ryan?" Meg suggested, trying to acclimate herself to the feeling of being in the same room with an old love and a new one at the same time. "And come have a drink with us?"

His gaze fell back to the ivory gown still spread across the table, lace spilling onto the wooden floor. "I'm almotht done. I took in the hem tho thee won't thtep on it again."

"Well alright." Meg led Christine and Erik, neither of who could take their eyes away from him. "Don't be too long."

"Okay," he said, sitting and waving to the trio. "Jutht you wait. Your mother ith going to look exthquithit."

* * *

"I bought that sewing machine for Antoinette for Christmas, and believe it or not, this is the first time I've seen it used."

"Looks like it came in handy," Erik said, standing in their back patio as Nadir indulged in a cigar.

"So how was that meeting in London?"

Erik smiled proudly. "It appears that the production of "Don Juan Triumphant" will begin rehearsal early next year."

Nadir laughed and shook Erik's hand. "Congratulations! First you'll be married, and then be going right back to work!"

"I'm looking forward to it," Erik admitted. "If it were up to me, Christine and I would be the ones marrying tomorrow. But she wants the big wedding, so we're waiting and planning."

Inside, Christine smiled and waved through the French doors. She stepped out and joined the two, quickly moving to rest her head on Erik's shoulder. "I've never seen Mama so excited about anything, Nadir! And Meg - she seems so happy."

"Now," Erik began, "would you say that she seems happy… or gay? Or wait! Am I jutht talking about Ryan?"

Christine's eyes shot daggers at her fiancée. "Ix-Nay on the ay-gay!"

The two men were sharing a good laugh, and Erik nudged Nadir.

"You have to admit, he doth theem very gay," Erik stated.

Frustrated, Christine balled her small fist and punched his shoulder. "I've already told you! He is NOT gay!"

Nadir put his hand on his hip and shook his head. "Tell, that to hith boyfriend!"

* * *

It seems that somehow Ryan had rubbed Erik the wrong way.

His annoying lisp had disappeared, and although Meg had explained how her boyfriend had bitten his tongue, Erik was not completely convinced or at ease with the handsome younger man. And, he especially did not care for the way his fiancée seemed to hang on Ryan's every word, staring up at him with her large, brown googly eyes.

The six had proceeded to Erik's chateau for the rehearsal, and afterward the cook, Rosa, with help from the maid, Daphne, served a lively feast of seafood for the rehearsal dinner.

Seated opposite from one another, Erik and Ryan had avoided conversation, and with Nadir and Antoinette lost in their own private conversation at the end of the table, Christine nudged Erik to be nice.

"I'm sorry about the gay thing, Ryan," he blurted out, and Christine nudged him again.

Ryan took a casual sip of from his wine glass, smiling sheepishly. "It's alright. I must admit you are not the first person to think that. So, Marguerite says that you were a vocal coach at the Opera Populaire?"

"That is correct." Erik turned to his salad, wondering if he had been mistaken about this good-natured boy.

The young man took a sneak peek to Antoinette to see if she was watching, and happy that she was not, he could not help himself. "So were _you_ acquainted with the Opera ghost?"

Meg's mouth was full of bread, and her eyes grew wide once again as she elbowed her lover.

In shock at being asked such a question, Erik dumbly repeated, "The Opera ghost?"

"Yes," Ryan replied, poking at his salad, nothing stopping him now. "I heard that he wore a mask because he was horribly disfigured, and that the beast was so mentally deranged that he took pleasure in haunting the inhabitants as well as the managers…"

Erik tried to control the snarl forming on his lip. He cleared his throat. "I assure you, Ryan, there is no such thing as the opera ghost."

This was the second time he had received this same response, and for some strange reason Meg was kicking him hard with her heels. "I see," he said, deflated. _Time to change the subject_. "Marguerite also informed me that nearly a year ago, you suffered from amnesia from some terrible accident."

Biting her lip, Meg's gaze fell to the table and she reached for her wine glass, willing her mind to communicate with him telepathically. Pig Latin seemed so useless now, but still her mind shouted, "Ix-nay. Ix-nay. Ix-NAY!"

"It's true," Erik retorted, clearly unhappy to be discussing this private part of his life with a stranger. Taking a sip of his own wine, Erik had to wonder how much his former pupil had revealed.

"It must have been _horrible_ not knowing who you were…"

By this time, Erik found that the irritation with this young man had elevated to a new level. He was especially not fond of Ryan's sweet, sympathetic tone, which felt fake and overly dramatic.

"Yes, well," the former phantom began, "it must be horrible for people to think you're gay!" he bit out, dropping his fork onto his plate with a clank, his deep blue eyes flashing dangerously at the young man.

Meg and Christine shot each other looks of desperation, as Christine's pinching fingers seemed not to be silencing Erik. Quickly, she lifted her wine glass with one hand and a spoon with her other, and tapped lightly on the goblet.

Christine pasted a smile to her face when she finally had the group's attention, including Erik's. "Time for a toast!"

* * *

Daphne had had her eye on the handsome American. She had, in fact, struggled to keep her eyes off him, incredibly charmed by the new visitor. So, as the rest of the group was enjoying drinks under the warm night sky, the young maid had taken to accompanying Ryan to the restroom. Busying herself, she straightened some wall hangings, waiting for him to emerge from the powder room.

"This is a beautiful home," he remarked to the attractive blond, noting that she definitely reminded him of someone.

"Oui, Monsieur," she replied, averting her eyes from his, and slowly heading toward the front corridor.

"Please, call me Ryan."

"Oui, Monsieur."

"How does he afford this as a music teacher?" Ryan asked.

"Monsieur is a composer."

Ryan's face lit up, and Daphne found herself captured by the spell of his eyes.

"I'll bet that he has a music room."

"Oui, Monsieur."

With a wink, he stopped and faced her. "I would love to see it."

Daphne's brows creased. "Oh, no, Monsieur. Monsieur does not allow anyone in the music room."

With a mock frown, Ryan put on his best puppy dog expression. "Please?"

* * *

He played the piano beautifully, and Daphne was taken by the voice that had accompanied it; such a strong, vibrant tenor, not as rich and stirring as her master's, but beautiful nonetheless. In true Daphne form, she stood by the closed music room, her ear pasted to the door, lost in the sweet melody that emerged from within. She had become accustomed to music since her boss had brought her here, and now it had become part of her soul. So engrossed was she, that she had not heard Erik as he entered.

"Daphne?"

At the sound of his voice, her body straightened, realizing that she was in trouble now.

"Oui, Monsieur," she replied loudly, moving away from the piano room, speaking over the music and singing.

"Have you seen Ryan?" he asked, but the sound that his ears caught was unmistakable. It was coming from the music room. "Who's in there?" he asked, his brows immediately furrowed with upset. Erik heard his music playing…and he heard singing.

The maid faltered, "Monsieur…" She struggled for words. "I…he…"

Erik strode past her and entered his music room, finding the insolent young man sitting at his piano, with the prized monkey statue in his hands. "What," he bellowed, and the whole estate seemed to shake from the sound of his anger. "In the name of God's green earth, are you doing playing my piano?"

Ryan turned to face him guiltily, monkey in hand, and the actor simply smiled, unaware of the potential of the master's wrath.

"Put my monkey down!"

Ten minutes later…

Meg entered, searching for Ryan. Erik had not returned either, and she hoped that after the conversation at dinner, the two had not engaged in a scuffle. Instead what she found was that Erik and Christine's blond maid (who Christine had simply insisted was Meg's twin, but Meg found no particular resemblance) was standing outside a double door, her ear pasted to the wooden surface. She also heard the piano, and the unmistakable voice of her boyfriend.

"Alright, now stop right there." She heard Erik's voice say. "Now go back to the first stanza, and this time try it in a lower key."

The music resumed once more, and the maid moved from the door, fearing that she was caught once again. Daphne said nothing, and only gestured for Meg to enter.

It was a sight indeed as Meg stepped in quietly. Ryan's fingers took to the keys, and followed the notes on the page before him while Erik stood off to the side, directing him with his hands, making waving motions as though he were a conductor.

"What is this?" Meg asked in shock.

Erik turned to his former pupil and smiled. At first he had been angry at Ryan's audacity, but had found a talented individual who had taken an interest in his compositions. And Erik loved the way the music sounded as it skillfully emerged from the piano, without the distraction of his own fingers having to play it.

Ryan had stopped, and turned to face his girlfriend, his own fingers once again finding the fine detail of the statue before him sitting faithfully on the piano. "Why didn't you tell me that Erik is a composer? He's brilliant!"

Modestly, Erik turned his eyes away with a wave of his hand. "Well…"

"And," Ryan continued, "he let me touch his monkey!"

* * *

There could not have been a more perfect morning with its clear blue skies, and birds twittering harmoniously. Erik and Christine made sure that all was in place for Antoinette and Nadir's wedding. Their colorful garden was in bloom with bright flowers of every color, and rows of chairs were in place, decorated at the ends with silk ribbon and white orchids. A long white carpet had been set down for the bride to join her groom. The priest stood ready at the front of the gazebo, and spread out behind him was a breathtaking view of Paris. And Christine stood elegantly, with microphone in hand, her sweet voice giving life to the words of "Ave Maria" as the procession began.

During the ceremony, Meg held her mother's bouquet, lost in thought. Everything was going perfectly, and as Ryan had said, her mother did, in fact, appear a decade younger. The bride and groom faced each other with love in their eyes, and a select few from the opera house were there to celebrate as well as some of Nadir's friends. In two days, she and Ryan would be heading back to London. And then in six more months, she would be back in Paris as Christine's maid of honor. Even now, Meg could spy the entranced meeting of their eyes, as Erik stood on the other side of the groom, gazing out at Christine amongst the small group in attendance. Meg could never have said it before, but now she could truly see that Erik and Christine were truly meant to be together, and with no hard feelings, Meg's own heart felt truly happy. Her mother was now marrying a man who was deeply in love with her, and Meg was also flooded with relief that Antoinette would no longer be alone. At that moment, Ryan's brown eyes met hers, and her heart pounded excitedly.

Meg had always wanted this, the home, the husband, and one day a family. One day…

Never more than now was it confirmed with the joyful union of her mother and stepfather, and as the climax of the ceremony prompted a round of applause, Meg had never felt more sure of her feelings for Ryan. Reminding herself to think with her mind, instead of her heart, Meg resolved to wait until they were back in London. Ryan had made her an offer, and with nothing to lose, Meg would be willing to accept.

* * *

A/N: Hope you didn't have too much trouble deciphering the lithp! Ath you might've already guethed, we're thtill not finithed. Tho pleathe hang in there with me & review! :)


	38. The Big Surprise

A/N: I'd like to give a note of thanks first, to Mominator and Timeflies, who reviewed last chapter. I loved hearing from you! Also, the lyrics contained in this chapter are not mine.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Phantom, Kay or ALW, or from Wicked.

**The Big Surprise**

There were mere minutes before curtain, and just as Meg settled the sparkly silver crown on top of her head, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" she called out absently, her fingers patting down her mass of blond curls, and mentally preparing herself for her onstage persona.

"Oh, Miss Galinda," Ryan gushed, entering and finding himself unable to keep his hands from circling her waist, despite the microphone wires, and bulky white gown. "You look delightful as usual."

Meg's heart fluttered as she admired her handsome boyfriend dressed in his traditional opening costume. Her fingers moved gently to his bright red vest, and adjusted the last button. "You look great yourself, Fiyero."

After one more wonderful day in Paris, treating themselves to a day of touring the Louvre museum, a river cruise, and exploring the wondrous views from the Eiffel Tower, Ryan and Meg returned to London. The very next day found them retreating to the dreaded chore of unpacking, and settling back into a hectic performance schedule. She had already resolved to tell Ryan that she had decided to move in with him, but each time she met those sensual brown eyes, her throat would tighten. Tonight, she told herself, after the performance. Tonight was the big night. Committing herself to this decision had set an army of butterflies in her stomach, worse than any feeling of stage fright she had ever faced.

Ryan refrained from kissing her, although her lips looked very kissable. Even the slightest smudge on her cheek or lips could send her back to the laborious task of reapplying her makeup. Instead, he took her small hands in his, and his eyes flashed with delight. "I have a surprise for you," he told her sneakily.

Meg curled her fingers into his tightly. "You do? I have a surprise for you!" _Oh, the butterflies, there were so many!_

"Five minutes!" the stage manager called out.

Upon hearing this, Ryan pulled his dear girlfriend towards the door. "Meet me after the show as always, and tonight, I want you to sing as though you are only singing for me."

A smile tugged at her lips. Ryan had such an endearing way of relating to her. "Of course, Ryan. Tonight, I will dedicate my performance to you," Meg said mock dramatically. She had always loved performing, and after six months it came automatically- the lyrics, the lines, the movements, the songs. She hadn't even had to think of it anymore, and until that moment she had not. The only thing Meg could concentrate on was getting through this show to give Ryan her final answer. But, now, at his special request, she looked forward to singing and acting just for him. It felt invigorating and prompted the pesky butterflies to fade away. "Just for you…"

Ryan smiled, again resisting the urge to kiss the beauty before him. "I can't wait."

"Neither can I."

"See you after the show," he repeated, opening the door, and already stepping out.

"After the show," she confirmed.

Just before he closed the door behind him, he met her eyes. "Break a leg, Marguerite."

Meg blew him a kiss. "Break a leg."

* * *

"You were unbelievable!" Ryan announced during intermission, as he burst into her dressing room. Their short break was nearly over, and Meg had been occupied with her hair, makeup, and costume change.

"Thank you," she replied modestly, affixing her microphone to the inside seam of her skirt. "You were pretty good yourself."

His grin was wide, and to Meg, he appeared from his expression to be bubbling over with excitement.

He moved to her. "I don't think I can wait until after the show. I have to tell you now!"

Her curiosity was definitely piqued at what his surprise could possibly be, and just thinking of what she wanted to tell him caused the butterflies to rally within her stomach once again. "Alright then," she told him nervously. "Tell me."

Ryan opened his mouth, but before he could begin, the stage manager's voice accompanied the knock at her door.

"Places!"

"Until later then." Ryan tucked the microphone wire into her blouse to hide it.

With a mixture of disappointment and relief, Meg blew him another kiss. "Until later…"

* * *

"Just for this moment,

As long as you're mine,

Come be how you want to,

And see how bright we shine…" Meg sang quietly along in the wings as she watched Ryan and the other lead, Elphaba onstage. Their voices came together with powerful harmony, and as Meg listened to his voice singing such meaningful words, she truly felt every bit of emotion from those lyrics.

There was something else, though. Ryan's gaze kept falling to the audience, and although slight and nearly imperceptible, Meg had noticed the distraction in his eyes. From the wings, and once she had taken the stage once more, she had searched the sea of the audiences' faces, but to no avail. Meg and the cast bowed for their standing ovation, and her blue eyes finally noticed a lovely, familiar looking woman, standing in front of the aisle seat, left center, in the front row. Suddenly she felt a wave of dread wash over her, and tears threateningly pricked at her eyes. She knew that face from Ryan's old pictures. He'd held onto them for years, and just last week Meg had finally convinced him to let them go.

She had not changed much. _Joanna_. Her formerly long, blond hair now rested just above her shoulders. Four years… It had been four years since last Ryan had seen her, and surely four years was long enough to mend a broken heart, to start anew. But, as Meg tried to convince herself that her boyfriend was over his childhood sweetheart, the constant return of his gaze was giving her the most sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach.

As always, Meg headed backstage after curtain call to meet Ryan where they always met, right outside his dressing room. But, on this night, Ryan was not standing there to meet her. Five minutes passed, and then ten minutes, and the buzz of cast members chattering and laughter only served to heighten Meg's fear. Was this his surprise, she asked herself, that Joanna was to be there to watch them perform? He had been so excited, after all. A flurry of maybes floated around in her head like oversized bubbles.

_Maybe she was there to congratulate him. Maybe Ryan wanted to introduce her to Joanna before they became serious. Maybe his childhood sweetheart had flown all the way to London to watch him perform to tell her how happy she is with her husband, and to wish Ryan well…or not._

"Marguerite?"

The voice of a stagehand broke her troubled thoughts. "Yes?"

"Are you waiting for Ryan?" the young man asked. "He's out in the audience."

"What is he doing there?" she asked, fearing she already knew the answer.

"He's talking to a woman."

She had peeked from the wings, and had indeed found him speaking to Joanna. It was innocent, she told herself, despite the fact that the two were in each other's arms. Once their bodies separated, Ryan still held his ex-girlfriend's hands in his. Meg could not bear to watch, nor did she have the courage to confront him. With tears in her eyes, she made her way to the dressing room, and began to undress.

Ten minutes later…

Meg was buttoning up her blouse when there was a knock at the door. "Come in," called out tentatively, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt, but secretly steeling herself for something very unpleasant.

"Marguerite," he greeted. There was no smile on his face, and it seemed as though his expression told the whole story.

There was only one question Meg had for him. "Why is she here?" she asked.

Ryan was still in costume, and his voice was shaky as he spoke. He explained that Joanna had divorced her husband eight months prior, and after realizing the mistake she made in marrying him, she set out to find Ryan, the love of her life.

"What?" Meg asked, biting her lip to keep it from quivering. "What about me, Ryan? What about **us**?" she inquired in disbelief. Suddenly the perfect picture of her perfect, happy future seemed to be slipping through her fingers.

He stepped toward her then, and attempted to embrace her. Abruptly she shoved him away.

"Marguerite, I care for you very much. But, I never got over Joanna. I've loved her since I was ten years old. And seeing her again- it's like those four years never passed."

Ryan watched as a stray tear escaped her eye, his heart aching at the sight of the blond beauty's pain, and how he had been the cause of it. "I didn't expect to ever see her again, certainly not tonight in the audience," Ryan tried to explain. "I never meant to hurt you," he whispered. He, in fact, thought that he would never allow a woman back into his heart, having given up on women. For years, he had been accustomed to being known as gay.

Disgusted and heartbroken, Meg slipped her feet into her shoes, and grabbed a moist washcloth to wipe her face. "I have to go," she said tightly, scrubbing the heavy stage makeup from her porcelain skin.

"Wait, Marguerite, no…" After what they had been through together, he hated to end things this way. But, was there a better way?

She rubbed and wiped, almost punishing the sensitive skin, if only to cover the sadness visible on her visage, and to shield Ryan's view from her. Meg didn't want him to see that her heart was breaking, or that at any moment she was going to break into sobs. She grabbed her purse, and opened the door to leave.

"Please, Marguerite," he pleaded as she strode away, still elegant and graceful even in her grief. "There was something else," he shouted out.

Holding back the tears, Meg held onto her dignity. She hung her purse onto her shoulder, and headed for the stage door. As much as she wanted to break down, and scream, and throw things, and slap his perfectly handsome, wretched face, Meg managed to stay calm and collected. Smoothing her hair down, and tucking her washcloth in her purse, she wondered how it had all happened so fast, and now, she could not make sense of anything.

_Surprise,_ she thought sadly.

Absently, she opened the stage door, only to find her way blocked by a tall man dressed sharply in dark slacks and a jacket. The man approached her with a pleasant smile.

"Marguerite Giry?"

"Yes," Meg responded dully, reaching into her purse for a pen. She thought him to be a fan that had waited a long time for an autograph.

"I really enjoyed your performance tonight," he told her.

He was American, she could tell. His accent was similar to Ryan's.

"Thank you," she replied politely, wishing only to leave and go home to cry her eyes out.

"Ryan was right about you. You really are something special, Miss Giry."

She really looked at the man for the first time. His dark brown hair was wavy, and the glint in his eyes was very appealing. The way he spoke, appeared, and dressed was professional. At that point, she could not ponder whether the man was attractive or not. Somehow, he knew her…

"You know Ryan?" she asked, wanting to spit fire as she said his name.

"I'm a friend of the family. Now tell me, Miss Giry. Do you have an agent?" he asked, ready to get down to business.

Puzzled, she watched as he pulled his wallet from his pocket, and retrieved a business card.

Overwrought, her mind was spinning as she tried to make the connection. "No," she answered honestly.

The man gave her a lazy smile. "You're going to need one. With that voice, and that sweet face, you are going all the way to the top."

Meg accepted the card from his outstretched hand, and tried to wrap her mind around the embossed print.

_David Campbell, Senior Talent Scout_

_New Faces Talent Management, Hollywood, CA_

_

* * *

_Absently, Meg piled clothes into a suitcase, not caring if they were even folded. Sniffling, and wiping tears, she told herself that she needed to get out of there. No, she could not even go back to the theatre; just the thought of facing Ryan was too painful. Resolving to call and inform the managers of her absence, Meg pushed down hard on her overstuffed suitcase. After finally snapping it shut, she headed for the bathroom, and inspected the reflection in the mirror. Her blue eyes were puffy and tinged with red, and her nose was pink and sore from over wiping. For the past twenty-four hours, she had not slept, or eaten. As she stared at the miserable individual in the mirror, Meg could not help but wonder if she would ever be happy again. How she longed for the comfort of home-her mother's warm, reassuring embrace, and for her best friend, the woman who was as close to her as a sister. She longed for Christine, just to be there to listen and hold her hand. The thought of going back to Paris, however, was equally unappealing. That wretched man had managed to steal all of her loved ones' hearts as well, and at the moment, Meg just could not bear to see the looks of pity on their faces.

One thing was for certain; she needed to leave London. All at once, a fresh burst of sobs racked her body, and angrily, the blonde willed the tears to stop. She was tired of the tears, and the hurt, and the aching misery that seemed to jab at her heart like a pitchfork. Suddenly, a thought struck her.

Resolutely, she blew her nose, and marched to her bedroom. Her fingers dug through her purse desperately, and when she could not find the desired item, more tears began to emerge. Frustrated, she dumped the contents of the purse onto the only empty spot on her bed. When the small business card dropped onto her pillow, she scooped it up quickly. She found the phone and dialed the number, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

Patiently she waited as the pleasant greeting of a female filled her ear.

"Yes," Meg began. "My name is Marguerite Giry. I would like to speak to David Campbell."

* * *

A/N: Okay, now that you all hate me, let me be clear that before I began this whole Meg storyline, I knew that her own personal love life would be more complicated, and could not be resolved easily within one chapter, or one man for that matter... If you are so inclined, please hang in there with me, because this is not an end, in fact, it is just her beginning. On a personal note, I need to take a break from this story awhile to work on online class I recently enrolled in, and my own story I've been trying to develop- don't get me wrong- writing this story is much more fun :) So, please be patient with me, and don't give up on the story, because believe me, I haven't! Thanks as always for reading, and I still would love to hear from you.


	39. Meg's New Beginning

_A/N: Hello all! I guess I couldn't stay away for too long. Here is the next installment continuing on with Meg's life, and as always I hope you'll let me know what you think._

**Meg's New Beginning**

"No, I didn't tell him that I wanted to move in with him. His ex-girlfriend showed up at the performance."

"No!" Christine said emphatically, listening to her friend on the other end of the line. She sat up in alarm, her large brown eyes widening at the news.

At his desk, Erik was thumbing through the pages of one of his compositions, eyes focused on his music, ears tuned to the sweet voice of his fiancée as she sat in the large, overstuffed chair, and now was bracing the phone with both hands. It was quiet for a moment, and all of a sudden her loud gasp filled the room. Her small hand covered her mouth.

"Meg! No! Please tell me you're joking," Christine nearly shouted.

Erik's eyebrow arched as he turned his gaze to the disturbed woman across from him. "What?" he asked curiously.

"So, that's it? It's over?" Christine asked incredulously.

"What?" Erik asked. "What's over?"

It was quiet, and Erik was becoming increasingly frustrated that he could not make out the content of the conversation.

"It's okay, Christine," Meg murmured to her friend on the other end of the line, trying to convince herself that it was true. This was the fifth time today that she had tried to make this call, and finally succeeded without breaking out in tears.

Christine's mouth fell agape. "I can't believe he would do that. Oh my God, Meg."

Erik watched as his beloved's eyes began to fill with tears. "What is it? What's going on?" he asked again.

Ignoring him, Christine cradled the phone closer to her ear, and stood up. "Don't go anywhere, Meg. Do you hear me? I'll be on the next flight to London."

"I'm not exactly in London…"

Concerned, Erik stood and moved to Christine's side, raising his shoulders in question. To his frustration, his angel ignored him, and turned to face the door.

"What?" she screeched, horrified by Meg's words. "Hollywood? As in, the United States?" Meg's news was hitting Christine too hard and too fast, and Christine found her mind spinning at these new developments. The brunette fell back into the chair, and brushed Erik away as he tried to lean his face in toward the phone to listen.

"David, the agent, uh, my agent," she corrected, trying to accustom herself to the sound of that. "He set me up with a condo just outside the city of Los Angeles. He's been wonderful, Christine. David's taking care of everything."

"Meg! I can't believe you would just let some strange man come in and whisk you away to…"

Meg was quick to interrupt. "There was no whisking, Christine. I made a decision, and that was after he had already flown back to Hollywood."

Christine could not believe her ears. It was bad enough that Meg had moved all the way to London nearly eight months prior, and she had missed her desperately. But now, the woman who was as close to her as a sister was now across an ocean; thousands of miles of endless waters separated them. And now her dear friend was in need of comforting. "I'm so sorry, Meg."

Maybe it was the words themselves, or perhaps just the sad, sympathetic tone that presented them on the other end of the line. All at once, Meg felt a fresh batch of tears brewing in her eyes once again.

At a loss for words, Christine's own heart was breaking, and as she now heard Meg's muffled sobs, her concern grew deeper. "Meg, I'll come to you. Tell me where you are."

It was a long way to travel, and there were arrangements that would need to be made, but at that moment, Christine was willing to move heaven and earth for her.

Wiping her tears, Meg laughed. "That would be silly. I'm okay, Christine. I'm going to be fine."

"Are you sure?" she asked uselessly. Erik's expression had fallen as his own face had been glued to the other side of the phone, catching the last part of the conversation.

"Of course," she sniffled. "Listen," she said, taking a deep breath. "I'm done crying and I have to go anyway. I'm supposed to do headshots later this afternoon."

"But, Meg…"

"I'm okay," Meg assured her, feeling the warmth of Christine's concern. Hearing Christine's voice had made her feel so much better.

"Really?"

"Really. I'm all out of tears, Christine. I am fine. And, I am definitely through crying over him."

After removing himself from the phone, Erik took to pacing the office floor, listening as the young women bade their goodbyes. He almost wore a triumphant look as Christine hung up the phone.

"Poor Meg," Christine said sorrowfully.

"He broke up with her?" he questioned carefully.

"Yes…that dog! That beast! That-"

"I knew it!" Erik shouted, his hand balling into a knowing fist.

"Knew what?" Christine asked in alarm. "You knew that Ryan was going to break up with Meg?"

"No. I knew that he was gay!"

* * *

David Campbell gazed at the blond beauty across from him on the other side of his large cherry desk. File folders, contracts, and 8x 10 glossies cluttered its shiny surface. The talented singer had been prompt as expected; just a moment ago his newest client had entered his office with a smile, but now a minute later had burst into tears.

"So, I guess we'll reschedule the headshots for tomorrow," he stated, lifting the tissue box from his desk and moved towards her, watching as she wiped at her puffy eyes that she had covered severely with makeup.

"I'm sorry, David. I'm just a mess," Meg replied, sniffling, and pulling two sheets of Kleenex from the box.

He took the chair next to her, and lazily set his arm around her shoulder. "It's alright, Meggie. I understand, but, and I'm telling this to you as your friend, you've got to get a handle on your emotions."

A buzz came through from his intercom. "David, Tabbie's on line 1."

"Tell her I'll call back, Jenna," he said, standing, his hands falling to his hips.

"But, she's insisting that she needs to talk to you. Now!" Jenna's voice rang out so powerful and insistent that Meg began to wonder who was working for who.

"Okay!" he replied to the voice of his receptionist. With a sigh, David looked to Meg apologetically. "One minute," he told her, holding up one finger. In a flash, he was behind his desk, picking up the receiver and pressing a button. "Hello, Tabbie," he said, his voice full of dread.

Meg moved her gaze to a wall that was adorned with several framed and signed photographs of famous singers and actors. For the moment, she was happy for this distraction to put herself back together.

"No, Tabbie. Wait. No. I can't talk about this right now."

As the former dancer looked back at her agent, she imagined it must have been a pushy client.

"No, Tabbie. No. We'll talk later." The calm in his voice had dissipated. "No, Tabbie. I am with a client," he snapped.

Not a client…

Frustrated, he tried to break through the screaming female's voice on the other end of the line. "Tabbie…Tabbie…I'm hanging up now," he threatened angrily.

It turned out that the irate woman on the other end of the line had beaten him to the punch, and as the dial tone sounded so loudly that Meg could hear it, David shook his head and closed his eyes. He then opened his eyes, and looked at the sweet beauty who was now looking into a compact, and trying to pat the bags under her eyes with some powder. There was such a contrast between the two women. If only, he thought, he could bottle the angelic temperament of his new discovery, then he would be a millionaire.

Meg hurriedly tucked her mirrored compact away in her purse as her agent took the seat beside her. Now that she was not immersed in her own grief, her senses were filled with the alluring scent of his cologne- a mix of citrus, sandalwood and, something else she could not quite place…And now she was painfully aware that he was eyeing her with the most charming smile…

"I apologize for that."

"It's alright," she replied, sitting up straight now. Meg turned to face the man beside her. The blond could hardly contain her curiosity. "But, if you don't mind my asking, who was that?"

"Tabbie? Formerly Tabitha Campbell- my second ex-wife," he sighed, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the awful conversation.

She guessed that her new agent was in his early forties, judging by the hint of gray at his temples, and the telltale lines of the adjacent crows feet. He wore his dark, wavy hair slicked into a ponytail, just below his shoulders. Meg liked that his narrow eyes were a mix of gray and blue, and on different days, they seemed to reflect one or the other, but rarely both. His long nose lent a very distinguished appearance to his face, and his boyish smile often gave her all the encouragement she needed.

"As far as Ryan, trust me, sweetie. You can do a lot better than that kid. I've known the boy since he was fifteen; he was always a little on the soft side, if you get my drift," he told her, wiggling his fingers with one hand, and squeezing her shoulder with his other.

"Right," she giggled. "I'm alright now."

David stood then, and circled her approvingly as she sat, eyeing her coif. "I love it," he told her. "Carlo is a genius! The hair is perfect."

Meg's hand fell to her blond locks. David had sent her to a beauty salon the day before, and as soon as she sat in the very flamboyant Carlo's chair, she was putty in his hands.

The eccentric stylist never asked Meg what she wanted, but rather followed David's strict guidelines as to what needed to be done.

"I like it," Meg agreed, her fingers meeting the delicate curl at the bottom. In truth, he had changed the color to a lighter shade, and had styled her hair into long, shiny, flowing locks.

"Classy with a quiet elegance, Meggie, that is what we are shooting for. Also," he paused, clapping his hands together once, "I wanted to discuss your last name."

Before Meg could open her mouth, David continued.

"I want to drop the Giry."

Stunned, Meg just looked at him with wide blue eyes. "But, that's my name," she said meekly.

The intercom buzzed again, and once again Jenna's voice came through. "David, Carl from Warner Brothers on line 2."

His eyes lit up as he looked to Meg. "Okay," he said hopping up again, and reaching for a contract with one hand and the phone with the other. "I've gotta take this…"

Meg only nodded as David picked up the receiver. From the sound of it, the man knew what he was doing, and in the short week and a half since she'd been in Los Angeles, he had seemingly made things happen like magic. His phone was used as powerfully as the wave of a fairy godfather's wand.

He hung up the phone finally, apologizing again. "Now, what were we talking about?"

"Dropping my last name."

"Right. Giry is your last name and it will always be, but, imagine this," he said, his voice loud and echoing throughout the spacious office, holding his hands in the air as though looking through the space in between like a viewfinder. "Marguerite. Your name…up in lights- Marguerite." In fact, David could see it very clearly. Meg had indeed possessed the star quality, the inner light that Ryan had relayed to him. And David was determined to carry her through- no matter what.

"I…I suppose."

He pressed the button on the intercom. "Jenna, hold all my calls, please?" he requested, shuffling some papers around to uncover his blackberry. With a few taps of his stylus, he pulled up the information he was looking for. "Have you been studying for your driver's test?"

Before she could even speak, he cut in, "You need to get that done," he informed her.

"Also, I have you scheduled for a Cover Girl commercial audition later this week, and next week, you are opening up for a concert…"

"A commercial?" she asked uncertainly. Her life had been all about the theatre. This was all so new for her. Everything from the odd way people spoke to the half-crazed way people drove in this country were so completely foreign to her.

"I want you to audition for commercials and print to get your face out there, no speaking parts though, not yet. You'll be working with a diction coach to tone down your accent, or perhaps start toward creating an American accent for you."

Meg's head was spinning. "You want me to lose my accent?"

"No, no, sweetie," he corrected. "Personally, I love your accent. But, you are limited to what you can do if you cannot speak without that sexy accent of yours."

_Sexy._ That word definitely caught her attention.

"Think of Nicole Kidman, or Kate Winslet," he continued, "Those gals are from other countries, yet you'd never know it by the way they speak. They can turn it on and turn it off," David told her, snapping his fingers. "And, they're both wildly famous."

Nodding, Meg was beginning to wonder if she was in over her head. He continued to chatter on about bookings and auditions, and Meg only sat there, quietly lost in her own uncertainty.

He stopped for a moment, finding his client's gaze focused on the ceiling. She was so beautiful, dangerously so, and no matter how tempted he was by her appealing nature, he could not allow himself to fall for this woman. Smiling, he rose and took the seat next to her.

"Meggie? I know this is a lot to think about right now, but I promise you are not going to go through it alone. I'm here for you, day or night."

She couldn't help but smile. He had hit the nail right on the head. In this unfamiliar country, with its road rage, and endless supply of weirdoes, Meg had only one friend.

He wanted to kick himself for being so taken by her dulcet features. "I'll tell you what. I'm going to free my schedule tonight and take you to dinner. And then, I'm going to introduce you to the sights of Los Angeles."

A feeling came over her just then, a feeling of excitement and hope. Her blue eyes looked up at him, and her heart gave a small flutter.

He took the petite blond into his arms just then, against his better judgment. "Stick with me, kid. You are going to have everything you've ever wanted," he murmured.

Whether it was appropriate or not, Meg reveled in the warm feeling of his arms. She was not over Ryan by far, but she was glad for the momentary relief from the pressing ache that lingered nearly every moment of every day. David had made her feel safe, and though she could lie to herself that this small attraction she was beginning to feel for him was only a business arrangement, she could not deny the sparkle in those bluish gray eyes.

"As a friend, of course," he laughed uncomfortably. It was dangerous to have such personal contact like this with a client, and even more dangerous that she had not pulled away…

She felt a little disappointed, but did not show it. Meg rationalized that it was too soon to feel such feelings anyhow. "Of course as friends," she agreed, giggling in return, and punched her agent playfully on the shoulder. _He smelled very nice_… Oh dear God, she thought. It seemed that now she could hardly stop touching him.

"I'll pick you up at 8 o'clock, Meggie," he said, walking her to the door.

It was different- this cutesy nickname he'd given her. _Meggie._ Up until that very moment she was not sure she liked it. David had not asked permission to call her by that name, and Meg had not asked him _not_ to address her that way. In fact, she had warmed up to the nickname, and as she looked up into the unusual color of his eyes, she thought she quite liked it. For that matter, she especially liked the appealing way his lips curled upward when he said it.

It was not a date- that was clear, but Meg found herself looking forward to it more than she could say.

"I'll see you at 8 o'clock."

* * *

A/N: More to come...


	40. Business or Pleasure?

A/N: Well, it appears that I have lost some readers (and reviewers), so I want to express my thanks to those of you are sticking with me! Even though it may appear that I've abandoned Erik and Christine completely, they will make an appearance in a few more chapters. Thanks again for reading, and esp. to those who've reviewed, and I hope that you will indulge me with your feedback :)

**Business or Pleasure?**

"You look amazing."

Meg smiled at her agent across the table. It had been the third time he said that since he picked her up, and now as she sat in this fancy restaurant that was way out of her budget, all dressed up in a chic black dress, Meg felt every bit a glamour girl. How suddenly things had changed for her, she mused. Just under two weeks ago, her whole life had been turned upside down because of her ex-boyfriend, Ryan, and now she was sitting and having dinner with a very attractive man. His gray pinstriped suit was nicely tailored to fit his height and broad shoulders. And to Meg's surprise, this evening he wore his hair loose around his shoulders. She had never cared much for long hair on a man, but given David's image, and the way he left the top two buttons of his shirt open, Meg could see that this look suited him. Despite the fact that David had made it clear that this was just business, Meg could hardly ignore his charming smile, or how giddy she felt as his grayish blue eyes openly admired her.

"I'm sorry, Meggie. I have to stop saying that. I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable," he apologized, dragging his gaze from her lovely face, and back to his menu.

"It's alright, David," she said with a smile. In fact, she rather liked hearing it. After the beating her ego and heart had taken, she welcomed the compliments.

In fact, she had spent the whole afternoon primping and preparing herself just for this. Only hours before, Meg had called her mother to give her the news about Ryan, and had not let her mom's boo hoo's get to her. She had put off telling her for too long; she reasoned it was because she had not been strong enough to deal with her mother's disappointment. And as far as telling her that she was now in Hollywood…well, that would definitely have to wait for another time. Humming to herself, Meg had felt better than she had since she left London, and as she counted the minutes until David's arrival, she imagined those grayish blue eyes gazing into hers, very much the way they were at this very moment.

"So, have you always performed in the theater?" he asked, refilling his wine glass.

"I grew up in an opera house," she told him, smiling at the way his dark eyebrow arched in response.

"Opera?"

"I sang in the chorus, and danced in the ballet," she confided.

"Really?" he asked, amazed by the jewel that he had discovered. David could not help but be impressed by the humble, gracious air that this woman had about her. There was nothing pretentious about Meg. He had seen it time and time again; actresses, singers, models, and dancers who thought the world of themselves and thought everyone else should as well. But no, this blond angel before him was so pure and sweet that he just wanted to take her into his arms and hold her there forever, protecting her from the evils of show business.

"My mother wanted me to become a prima ballerina," she stated, demurely taking a sip of her own wine.

At that, David had to smile. "And what did you want to do?"

Meg's gaze shifted upward as though the answer would materialize out of thin air. No one had ever asked her that. "I once thought I wanted only to dance, but now I also enjoy singing very much."

"Do you want to go back to dancing, Meggie?" he had to ask. She was the whole package. She could do it all, and now he wanted to find out what it was that she truly wanted.

"I don't," she said with certainty. Somehow, dancing still reminded her of the days when she was living her mother's dream. It had been that bitter stigma that had prompted her to leave Paris. "I want to sing."

He smiled then, his eyes drinking in the sight of her and the creamy flesh exposed from her halter dress. David raised his wine glass, prompting her to raise hers. "Then sing, you shall."

* * *

They walked along Hollywood Blvd, and David pointed out the stars' names as their feet stepped along the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Meg's eyes lit up in surprise as she oohed and ahhhed at the hand and foot prints of some of her favorite celebrities in the cement in front of the Chinese Theater. Every minute he spent with her he found invigorating. He loved seeing the childlike excitement in her face as they visited the various theaters, then cruised the famous Sunset strip in his sleek, black sportscar. There had been many times when he had to silence that little voice that nagged at him, warning that his own heart had been crossing over into dangerous territory. Although he had seen these touristy sights dozens of times, seeing them with this delicate, young French woman had breathed the life back into them, and the life back into him.

The smile had never left Meg's face as she and her agent toured the streets of Hollywood. She still felt like a stranger in a strange world, and while David had been her only link to familiarity, her comfort level was rising considerably. Attentively, she listened as he relayed the history of the old town, admiring the confident, easy way he spoke to her. There was a definite attraction there between them, and Meg could feel it as heavily as a monkey on her shoulder. In fact, as they strolled, she had to make a conscious effort to stay her hand from reaching for his.

This was only business, after all.

He drove her to Venice Beach, and though it was late, he could not resist trying to make the night last as long as possible. Meg was delighted by all the bustle of activity so close to the ocean: the nightlife, shops, restaurants, and even the street performers. As they walked along the pier, though, she found that the thinness of her embroidered shawl was not keeping her warm from the breezy ocean air.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

Meg felt embarrassed all of a sudden. She was not cold by nature, but her body temperature had been in an uproar since she arrived in this country. "I'm fine," she replied, bracing the shawl around her arms tighter. With the stars clear and bright in the night sky, all she could think of suddenly was the warmth of David's arms.

"No, you're not," he laughed. "Meggie, you're shivering." He removed his jacket and placed it around her shoulders.

Her blue eyes were as round as saucers as she gazed up at him, and David found himself tempted, more tempted than he had ever been by any woman. Her lips looked unbelievably soft, and the sweet scent of her perfume was intoxicating. He recognized that look on her face - that look of flirtation, sensing he could not deny the electricity between them indefinitely. It both thrilled and saddened him.

His hands lingered a little too long on her shoulders, and snapping himself out of her spell, he gestured for them to keep walking.

It was silent for the first few moments as they continued on, and Meg was more disappointed than she thought she would be that he had not tried to kiss her. She knew this was business, but the attraction she was feeling for David right now was unlike any she had ever felt. When she had fallen for Erik, her feelings had developed over the course of years: a slow, brewing type of allurement. With Ryan, he was so obviously handsome that the eyes could not help but look, if only to behold his perfect features. Now, with this man it was an invisible magnetism that drew her to him. The more time she spent with him, the less it felt like business.

"How long were you with Ryan, Meggie?" he asked, breaking the silence. "Of course, you don't have to answer that if you don't…"

"About six weeks."

Six weeks was such a short amount of time yet, the woman had been devastated when Ryan had broken up with her. Now just a short while later, he was getting these flirty vibes from her, and wondered how she could have cared so much for one man, and then so soon be seeking the arms of another. This bothered him slightly, and again he reminded himself that this was only business. It didn't matter how much her blue eyes sparkled when she looked at him, or how elegant she looked as her finger played with her necklace. David Campbell was a professional and could certainly contain his feelings, couldn't he?

Business, business, business, he repeated the mantra to himself.

And then she linked her arm through his. "Tell me something about yourself that you've never told anyone."

He couldn't resist the way she spoke. Her accent threw him for a loop every time - it was so foreign and exotic, and now as inappropriate and unexpected as the question was, David simply laughed. Somehow this evening was becoming less and less like business…

"My ex wife cheated on me with my sister."

Meg's mouth fell open, and she hit him playfully on his arm. "No!"

"Yes. It's a true story. The truth is that Tabbie could not make up her mind what she wanted. Okay, that was extremely embarrassing," he smiled. "Now you."

"I was in love with my music teacher," she stated, a blush rushing rampantly to her cheeks. For the life of her, she could not believe that she had just blurted that out. There had to be something else she could have said. _Anything else_…

"That's not so uncommon, you know," he replied.

His reaction was not as she expected, but then why would it be, she asked herself. Feeling better about it, she went on, "It was a secret I kept for many years. I never even told my best friend, who, as it happens, is marrying him in a few months."

"Music teacher, huh? I could see it, I guess. An older man, probably attractive, inspiring passion with music."

Meg decided it best not to elaborate. She of course had not found Erik attractive back then, but the formerly masked man had definitely brought out the passion in her. Quickly, she changed the subject. "What about you? Was Tabbie your first love?" she asked.

"Hardly. Neither were Michelle or Linda, but that didn't stop me from marrying them." He mentally kicked himself. Why was he telling her this?

"So, you've been married three times?" Meg asked with a gulp.

"Yes," he admitted ruefully, "and they all were all doomed from the very beginning." He stopped then, facing her and appeared very uncomfortable. "Can we talk about something else? I really don't want to talk about my ex-wives."

"Who was your first love?" she asked curiously, knowing this was none of her business, but now the gates had been opened, and she wanted to learn as much about this man as he would tell her.

He squinted his eyes as though calling up a very distant memory. "It was Miss Nelson, my sixth grade teacher."

Meg smiled and nudged her shoulder against him. "That's sweet."

"I was only one of about 15 adolescent boys who pined hopelessly for her. She married that year, crushing our eleven-year-old hearts," he said jokingly.

Having had her own heart crushed by her teacher, she could definitely sympathize. But, the way she saw it now, things had worked out for the best.

"Some things were just never meant to be," he sighed, liking extremely the comfortable pace they kept as they strolled, and how natural her arm felt in his.

Amen, she thought. It appeared that he had learned that lesson several times over. Meg wondered if his ex wives were still a part of his life, or if he was even married now. His ring finger had not shown evidence of this, but it was not uncommon nowadays for married men to be unfaithful, or vice versa.

"And…are you married now, David?" she asked meekly. She felt uneasy about asking, and it was probably not any of her business, yet she felt that it was, and if he were currently married she would have to put a halt to this, whatever it was that she was feeling for him.

"Oh God, no," he replied emphatically. "Trust me, after being married and divorced three times, I am very happy to be single."

By this time, they had reached the parking lot, and David pressed the button on his remote, sounding the double chirp from his car alarm. They entered the car in silence and Meg was left to ponder the complicated life of her agent.

"You know, Meggie, you kind of look like her," he said fondly, plugging the key into the ignition and prompting the loud purr from the engine.

Confused, she looked to him then. "Who, Tabbie?" She really hoped not to be compared to her.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Miss Nelson. Blond, big blue eyes, gorgeous."

Meg felt her heart definitely begin to flutter, and she smiled at the compliment.

Mentally, he kicked himself again for having such a big mouth. "I'm sorry, I did it again."

"It's alright, David," she replied, but he still looked like he regretted saying it, and she definitely had liked hearing it. "You know who you kind of look like?"

He raised a dark eyebrow, and puckered his lips, doing his best macho impression. One hand secured his long locks into a ponytail. "Steven Seagal?"

With a giggle, Meg shook her head. "No, no! Well, I mean, with your hair long, not as much, but your face definitely reminds me of that actor from that show where the two FBI agents chase monsters and UFO's. What was his name? David…" she trailed off, snapping her fingers, trying to recall that blasted surname.

"Duchovny. The show was called the X-Files," he supplied.

"That's it," she said, a smile lighting up her face. "Agent Mulder from the X-Files. Mmmm hmmm."

"I've honestly never heard that one before." He noticed then that her cheeks were filling with color. "So I take it you like this David Duchovny guy?"

"Oh yeah," she said, nodding. "I'm not crazy about his long hair the way he wears it in his new show, or his sex problem, but I loved him in his X-Files days."

A smirk settled on his lips. This petite blond beside him was honest and knew what she liked. _Very interesting_. His eyes settled on the digital image of the clock, and upon registering the late hour he felt sorry that the night had passed so quickly. "Time to get you home, Meggie. You have headshots in the morning."

He had not tried to kiss her; Meg reflected, and in fact, had not even walked her to her door. Once she entered her new home, she kicked off the painful black heels that had tortured her feet and as she changed into some sweatpants and a t-shirt, she could not help but feel that in time that there was something very special about to develop between them.

* * *

A/N: There is actually a part 2 coming at some point, so stay with me, and leave a review while you're at it! :)


	41. Business or Pleasure Part 2

**Business or Pleasure Part 2**

She could not wait to see him again, and as she waited in his office under the watchful eye of his snooty receptionist, Jenna, Meg was undeterred.

Four days had passed, and Meg had tried to keep busy getting her pictures done, studying for her driver's test, practicing with the diction coach, consulting with a stylist for her wardrobe, and most importantly, rehearsing for her performance that night. Though she had had to make up excuses for the past two days just to hear his voice, Meg gripped the leather portfolio in both hands, happy for a reason to see him.

A small smile played about her lips, and the annoyed tone of the receptionist jarred her from her thoughts. Meg was quick to enter his office, and was pleased to see David rise from his seat with a smile.

"I've been thinking about you all day," he remarked. Truthfully, he had not been able to stop thinking about her since that night they went out on the town. Purposely he had distanced himself from her, not wanting to tempt himself with her beauty and charm.

Meg's jaw dropped as soon as she saw him, having taken notice of the change he had made. Without invitation or provocation, the blond headed straight for her agent and spied his hair, or rather the lack of it no longer hanging in his customary ponytail. Parted to one side, his dark hair had been cut short and feathered back, and her fingers could not resist inspecting the new style.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

She was grinning like an idiot, but could not help it. Now with the identical hairstyle, he was practically Duchovny's twin. Nodding, she finally backed away from him, admiring the way he looked now. "Did you do this for me?" she asked, breathless now by his appearance.

"No," he responded matter-of-factly. "It was time for a change is all." He frowned to himself. She had called it, and as ashamed as he was that he had done this for a woman, he had been pleased with the results. His gaze fell to the portfolio she held in her hands. "So, I see you have something for me?"

The two went over the headshots together, and David commented on the various pictures and poses. In truth, he was taken by her beauty, and the versatility of her expressions; had she decided that singing was not her passion, she could easily model for a living.

"David, your 3:00 o'clock is here," Jenna's voice buzzed in.

Taking the cue, Meg headed for the door, leaving the portfolio on his desk. "Well, I have to go anyway, I have a rehearsal at the Kodak Theater."

"Right. Your first performance tonight. Are you nervous?"

"No," she lied. Opening for an up and coming band was a huge gig for her, and she had never had to do performances alone. She supposed she ought to get used to it.

"I'll see you tonight," he assured her. He would not miss it for the world.

"You're…you're coming?" she asked, both surprised and relieved at the same time.

His tone was nonchalant. "I'll be there, Meggie."

With a bounce in her step, she opened the door to leave.

"Oh, by the way…" he called out.

She turned around to face him.

"I put a rush on these headshots, and Fernando would have had them Fed-Exed to my office."

Because of the blank expression on her face, he decided to elaborate. "You didn't have to come all the way down here just to deliver this," he informed her.

Meg simply smiled then. "I know," she replied, and closed the door behind her.

* * *

Backstage he watched as she sang, mesmerized by the purity of her voice, and the soul she put into every word. It seemed as though the blond angel had cast a spell over the audience so powerful that all was quiet as her voice resounded throughout the auditorium. As he anticipated, she had had quite an effect on the audience, and even worse, quite an effect on him.

After locating the glowing performer backstage, he promptly removed her from the noise of the auditorium, favoring instead the silence of his car.

Her heart was still pounding. She had actually been onstage alone- only her and the microphone, and as she emerged from the stage, Meg was breathless, euphoric from the applause. It had been an amazing experience. The heat from the spotlights had been solely on her, and the cheering and the music of the audiences' appreciation had changed her forever.

"You were amazing, Meggie," he told her, pulling out of the large parking lot. "I am free for the rest of the night. Where do you want to go now?"

At Meg's request they ended up back at Venice Beach, and as she paused on the pier, watching the way the dancing lights reflected in the dark ocean waters, she still felt a surge of adrenaline rushing through her. She was amazed by how different her life was now, and by how this turn of events had occurred because of Ryan. If not for him, she may have stayed in London and never experienced all the new excitement she was experiencing now.

David was standing quietly behind her, fighting a battle within himself. It was taking every last bit of strength to keep from taking her in his arms.

She felt on top of the world at that moment, as though there was nothing she could not do. Meg turned to face her handsome agent.

"David? Tell me another thing you've never told anyone."

He smiled and moved closer to her, so close that their faces were inches apart. His eyes met hers, and he felt as though he could drown in those dazzling blue depths.

"I want to kiss you so bad right now," he told her, his gaze falling to the luscious temptation of her lips.

If it were at all possible, Meg felt her heart pound even faster. "I want you to kiss me right now."

Indeed he thought he just might, his body slowly leaning into hers, but suddenly the nagging voice inside him took over, prompting David to back away.

"Meggie," he began, hating himself at that moment. "I just can't do this." Before she could even ask, he continued. "This, being around you, and wanting you like this is very difficult for me. I decided a long time ago that mixing business with pleasure could be harder than you can ever imagine."

Meg's disappointment showed on her face. "But, David…"

"Listen to me, Meggie. My number one rule is to never, ever, EVER get involved with my clients."

"Am I just a client to you, David?" she asked, tears welling up in her eyes.

"No, of course not, but Meggie, please, you have to understand…"

She bit her lip, holding back the threatening sobs. "I want to go home."

With her arms folded tightly in her chest, he could see she was through talking. In silence, they rode, and when they arrived at her building, Meg slammed the door shut before he could say a word.

Sadly David drove off, hoping that in time she would understand.

Back at home Meg fought back tears; tears over Erik, over Ryan, and now over her latest rejection, David. She wondered if she should just run from this place too, and go home to Paris. After tossing and turning in bed for some time, she finally got up and dressed. She called a cab, and then simply asked the driver to drive.

The tears began to flow again, and furiously Meg wiped at them with the back of her hand.

"Are you okay?" the cabbie asked with a thick Spanish accent as he entered the freeway onramp.

Quietly, she nodded. She had no idea how many miles had passed, but now again those darn tears were prickling at her eyes and she hated them. Meg was sick of tears, and of crying, and having her heart stomped on by men. And her tears were just a testament to that pain. At that very moment, a song title popped in her head, and then lyrics began to follow. Frantically, she dug around in her purse for pen and paper.

"Do you have any paper?" she asked the driver almost breathlessly.

He shook his head, and Meg looked around the cab in desperation. These words kept coming to her and she had no way of recording them. This was the first inspiration Meg had ever had, and she imagined all of a sudden, herself sitting at a piano, plunking at notes just the way she had seen Erik do so many times.

"Stop the cab," she directed.

"Ma'am, do you know where we are?" he asked, pulling over.

"No," she replied impatiently, "but I have to get out right now."

The driver shook his head again, wondering if this strange, attractive woman would make it home safely. A woman like this being dropped off alone in front of a bar in Long Beach could face any number of dangers. He tried to tell her this, but she simply paid the fare, and left the cab as though a skunk had inhabited it.

Meg did not notice the cab drive off, nor did she notice the stares she received as she took a place at the furthest end of the bar, and began to scribble furiously on a napkin.

_My Tears_

_Without hope, without a care,_

_I know that love's not fair,_

_But my tears, these tears, they_ say,

_You, you always run away,_

On the other end of the bar, a man watched, intrigued by the gorgeous blonde who had just entered. She had not made eye contact with anyone, and he was curious as hell as to what she was writing. It was a sin, in his mind, for a voluptuous beauty such as she to have to spend the night by herself. Puffing out his chest, the man chuckled as he elbowed his friend beside him. He had every intention of remedying that.

To be continued…

* * *

A/N: Okay, by now you're probably wondering 2 things- 1. what is up with the cliffie? and 2. why the plot bunnies? I will assure you that things happen for a reason, and I'm not just randomly dragging the story into unknown places for the fun of it. So, please, stay with me! And please review!


	42. The Gentle Stranger

A/N: Ah, a bonus Saturday chapter! Thanks to those who left reviews...love you all, big hug!

**The Gentle Stranger**

"Knock, knock?"

Wisps of cigarette smoke clouded the air, and the pounding of the background music resounded in her ears. Up until this point, she had been completely oblivious to her surroundings and especially now, to the man standing before her. Meg had been engrossed in the words and melody that had been forming in her mind when the man's voice had interrupted her flow of ideas. Somewhat perturbed, she looked up from her napkin, temporarily halting the harried motion of her pen. Her blue eyes met his brown ones, and as he squeezed the bottle of beer in his hand for luck, he smiled down at her.

No one's home, she thought. "Pardon?" she asked, sizing up the man who was now chuckling like a silly oaf. He appeared a harmless character with his head of light brown curls and laughing eyes, although his chortle had escalated to an annoying level. To Meg's dismay, she was overpowered by the scent of beer on his breath.

"I said, knock, knock," he repeated playfully.

Blankly she stared at him. She could not quite place his accent, but could tell he was not from this country. Despite his joking expression, she was quickly becoming more and more uneasy. "I'm sorry," she said, gesturing to her napkin. "I'm in the middle of something right now."

"What'cha writin', love?"

Meg put down her pen, and tried to think of the most delicate way to tell him to go away when another male's voice piped in.

"Jaysus, Bob. Will ya leave the lass alone?"

A single brow arched way up on his forehead and Bob turned to face the voice, "Butt out," he said, still with a smile plastered across his lips.

Before she knew it, another man appeared beside her unwelcome companion. This man stood a few inches taller than Bob, and his brawny frame exuded confidence. His dark hair was neatly cropped, and he wore a black leather jacket that deeply contrasted the beautiful turquoise color of his eyes.

"I think the lady was doing something, and you've gone and interrupted her," the man informed Bob. He spoke with a similar accent, and it struck Meg as odd when upon closer inspection, she realized that this other man's face was rugged and handsome, not unlike Erik's new face with the exception of some stubble. There was also, she noticed, a faint warmth resting in those captivating eyes.

"I was just telling her a bloody knock, knock joke," Bob told the taller man, noticeably irritated.

By his body language and tone, Meg could see that the two men knew each other well. It seemed that Bob was more disappointed by the man's interference than he was upset.

"Beat it," the man replied to Bob.

Grumbling, Bob swaggered away, and the dark-haired stranger watched with a smirk as the intoxicated fellow made his way back to his seat, nearly tripping over the barstool, and landing himself on the floor.

"I apologize for my friend," the man said. "He's a bit past his limit."

There was a gentle quality to the man that eased Meg immediately. "You're not from around here, are you?" she asked.

He smiled then, "Aye, and neither are you. Judging by yer accent, I'd say you are… French?"

Meg smiled. She had since grown tired of people commenting on her accent, but it was not as bad, she mused, when it came from another foreigner. "Right. And I would guess you to be…Irish?"

"Scottish," he corrected.

"Do you live here or are you just visiting?" she asked, suddenly curious about this handsome stranger.

"Actually, I'm shipping off in the morning. I'm a sailor."

"Wow," she remarked, genuinely impressed that anyone could live that sort of life. "I prefer dry land."

"So, what about you?" he asked, "Are you visiting or do you live here?"

"I moved here a couple of weeks ago."

"Do you like it?"

"So far. It's very different here," she admitted, spying Bob in the background spinning and laughing in his barstool along to the beat of the music. "Some of the people are a bit strange."

He turned then to view his curly-haired friend's antics and simply shook his head. "Well," he said, eyeing her napkin visibly filled with black ink. "I'll leave you to your…writing."

"No," Meg retorted. There was something very comforting about his presence, and amidst the loud music and bustle of the noisy inhabitants, she rather liked his company…and he wasn't so bad to look at either. "Would you like to sit down?" she offered, gesturing to the stool beside her.

Rather surprised, he sat. He held out his hand for her to shake. "My name's Patrick."

With a smile, she let her small hand fall into his strong, larger one. "Call me Meg."

* * *

Gazing up into his turquoise eyes, Meg found herself actually enjoying the night. Because it was couple's night, the music had taken a turn to a softer tone. It only took one glass of wine for her to relax, and the second glass had definitely taken its toll.

On the dance floor in the smoky room, Meg and Patrick swayed in time to the music, and as she spoke, she let her fingers dance around the back of his neck.

He had held her in his arms, listening to the lovely blond as she spoke. And now, seemingly out of words, she rested her cheek against the broadness of his shoulder. "So," he began quietly, looking down into her eyes. "This Erik was in love with yer best friend, and this Ryan fellow went back to his ex-girlfriend."

Dear God, she thought. When he put it that way, it sounded even more pathetic. "Unfortunately," she replied. "Well, the way I see it is that things between Erik and me would never have worked out. But I still feel foolish for telling him how I felt."

The handsome stranger opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Meg began again.

"So, I didn't tell Ryan that I loved him because I didn't want the same thing to happen again. But now, I wonder if I had told him just three days sooner, if we might have moved in together, and he would not have gone back to Joanna. Now, I'll never know."

"Maybe it was the same with Erik and Ryan. Their hearts weren't theirs to give," he suggested softly.

It made sense, and there was nothing anyone could have done about it. If there was a lesson that Erik had taught her, it was that you could not make someone love you. Meg had no response to that. Leaning against his body as they danced, she was quiet, lost in the sentiment of the stranger's words.

"And so," Patrick began, "this David brought you here all the way from London to become a star…"

"David," she said bitterly. "He's another mystery."

Patrick smiled then, and shook his head. Meg backed her face from his shoulder, and gazed up at him with a curious smile.

"What?"

"It's just that if you were mine, I would have never let you go," he said, his voice husky and achingly sweet.

Meg knew the look in his eyes that that wasn't all there was to it. "But?"

"But, I'm afraid _my_ heart _isn't_ mine to give."

Just then, Meg felt a tug on Patrick's leather jacket, and turned to see where it was coming from.

"Did ya tell her, Pat?" Bob asked with a silly grin. Now, he had an older woman in his arms, smiling and laughing, and with her hair full of gray, she wore a bright red blouse that said "Foxy Grandma." The unusual couple was spinning in circles around the tiny dance floor.

Meg's blue eyes looked from Patrick to Bob. "Tell me what?"

Patrick arched an annoyed brow at his friend. It appeared to be a warning.

"About Lizzie," Bob continued, "apparently our Patrick here is smitten with this lass back at home and her son, Frankie."

Patrick's lips formed a tight line, and the creases in his forehead were more pronounced as he furrowed his brows together.

Actually, Meg had found this incredibly amusing. "So, this Lizzie owns your heart, Patrick?"

He shot another dirty look to his belligerent friend as Bob and his mature dance partner retreated back to the bar. "I'm afraid so."

Meg's mind filled with questions. "So, why aren't you with her?"

"It's complicated."

She tried to make eye contact with him, but he kept his gaze focused elsewhere. "Well, did you tell her you feel about her?"

He looked to her then, his eyes pleading. "It's not as easy as all that."

"Why not?" she asked simply.

Patrick looked to her then. "Why haven't you told David how you feel about him?"

"I'm not sure how I feel about him. And…"

"Yer afraid?"

"Of course, I'm afraid," Meg told him incredulously. "The man I thought I might want to marry just dumped me, and yet now I'm having feelings for another man. I've known him for less than two weeks. David, whenever I'm around him, I feel I can do anything, be anyone I want to be, but it's more than that. He makes me feel like I'm the only woman on earth, and when he smiles at me, all the Erik's and Ryan's in the world just fade away."

Meg began to feel a little self-conscious when the gentle stranger simply stared down at her.

"You know what I think?" he asked finally.

"What?"

"I think, maybe this David fellow doesn't know _what_ he wants."

With a nod, she silently contemplated his words.

"Maybe," Patrick continued, "he needs your help to decide."

She looked up at him then, stunned as though he had declared a startling revelation. "Maybe you're right," she breathed.

"Of course I am," he told her. "Don't waste another day. Tell him how you feel."

Her hands dropped to her side and Patrick let go of his hold on her as she hurried back to the bar. "I'm going to do it, Patrick," she told him determinedly, digging in her purse for her recently acquired cell phone.

"That's right, Meg," he encouraged.

Meg's heart was pounding as she located David's name on her contact list and prepared to call his house number. But, before she hit that crucial send button, and before she let Patrick disappear from her life forever, there was one thing she wanted to tell the gentle stranger.

"Patrick?" she called out, and his tall figure turned to face her amidst a stream of smoky air. "Maybe Lizzie needs some help as well."

And for as long as she lived, she would always remember the smile he gave when she said it.

To be continued…

A/N: To anyone who has not seen "Dear Frankie" or read my "Dear Frankie" stories, hope that this one was not too off base. For some reason, I can't resist bringing characters from my other stories- especially when they're tall, hot, n' Scottish :) I actually toyed with the idea of pairing the stranger with Meg, but decided in the end that he belongs with Lizzie :) As always, thanks for reading, and love to hear from you!


	43. Made to Be Broken

**Made to Be Broken**

Long Beach. She was in Long Beach. Shaking his head, David followed the map on his GPS, thankful that he had activated the tracking device on Meg's cell phone. The woman had been in this country barely two weeks, and now she was a good thirty minutes from her apartment, in LONG BEACH! What did she think she was doing? David found himself sick with worry. What if something had happened to her? Driving the twenty miles from his home to the bar, he imagined the horrors of every possible scenario. She might have been picked up, or robbed, or raped, or even worse…

After what had transpired that night, David was grateful that she had called him instead of a cab. At least now, he could see her safely home. There was still the matter of the awkwardness between them, but somehow he was sure they could overcome it. He was determined, he told himself, to stick to his guns, and not allow his personal feelings to bleed into his work.

It was then, of course, that he saw her, standing out in front of the bar entrance, and though she was dressed considerably less glamorously than her onstage persona, she was still stunning in jeans, heels, and a black sweater. Her sultry lips were curved into a smile as he pulled up alongside the curb, and as she approached the passenger side door, he felt captivated by her.

There was no trace of anger or sadness in her eyes as she sat, and David could barely keep himself from staring at the beauty beside him.

"Thank you for coming to get me, David," she told him softly.

She was like an angel, looking to him with grateful blue eyes, and he could not find words with which to speak. What happened, he wondered, to the severe lecture he had planned for the young woman? Where did the words of warning go now as she finally sat beside him? Dumbly, he only looked to her and nodded.

The loud blare of a horn startled him from her spell, and he sheepishly waved to the angry driver in the car behind him in the rearview mirror. Without a word, he began to drive.

Meg wondered what had happened to the nerve she had gathered just over thirty minutes prior. The gentle stranger had convinced her to not waste any more time. He had encouraged Meg to seize the moment and tell David how she felt. The problem was that now that she sat beside her agent, she wasn't exactly sure what her feelings for him were.

"I'm glad you called me, Meggie," he said finally.

"Me too," she replied.

"Listen, Meggie, about earlier…" he began uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on the road. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings…"

It was then that she realized that it did not matter what her feelings were; nothing she could say was going to change his mind. And, at that point she hated to think that David could be thinking her to be pushy and desperate.

"It's alright, David," she said, putting a hand on his arm.

The touch of her hand was like a powerful jolt. He could not recall ever having such a magnetic attraction to any female. Turning to face her then, he asked, "So, you don't hate me?"

A small giggle escaped her lips. "Well, a little," she joked. "But you're right," she said firmly. "You are my agent, and this is business." Saying those words aloud suddenly made her feel very empowered, but still she could not fight the little burst of regret in her heart.

"Business," he repeated, more for his benefit than hers.

Her eyes lit up just then. "And, thanks to you, I am writing a song!"

Stopping for a red light, David turned to her in awe. "Is there anything you can't do?"

* * *

_You are my agent, and this is business._

Her words had echoed in David's mind. Indeed, she had not said another word about it, and now a week later, he was seething.

David had managed to gain entrance for himself and the lovely blond into an exclusive premiere party. His client was a vision in red sequins, a temptress and an angel all at the same time. From the thin straps of her gown to the sparkly length of her mid thigh hemline, the woman was all legs and bust. And to David's dismay she had the attention of seemingly every red-blooded wolf in the room. At that very moment, there was a small crowd of men around her as though she were already famous. He could not help the sinking feeling of dread in his stomach. Once she did become famous, she would become distant like they all did, and only communicate when absolutely necessary… solely by phone and fax. Pushing that disturbing thought away, he moved from the dreadfully dull, stocky man who was talking his ear off and headed toward his client.

"Gentlemen," David greeted, taking Meg's shoulder possessively, "I'm afraid Marguerite has an early morning tomorrow."

Meg smiled and said her goodbyes to her new admirers- other agents who were dying to steal her away as well as 'actors' whose names she'd never heard of. It appeared that now David was her personal bodyguard. In fact, there was rarely a time in public when his bluish-gray eyes were not watching protectively or when his tall frame was not by her side. The man had jealousy written all over his face, and Meg had enjoyed every minute of it. Yet, he said nothing and did nothing- he only remained friendly with her- but not overly so.

As David whisked her away from the party, he took the newly acquired business cards from her hand and promptly made them disappear. They exited the grand estate, and the crisp autumn air chilled the night.

She turned to him then with a pout. "But, David, I don't have rehearsal until tomorrow afternoon," she whispered as they made their way down some steps, stepping on various colored crunchy leaves as they walked.

He linked her arm through his, smiling politely to some faces he recognized on the way out. "I know."

* * *

She should have been happy for her.

Meg sat on her sofa the next morning, sipping some coffee, and her fingers trembled slightly as they held the formal, lacy invite in her hand. She had known for months that the event was coming, but somehow had never allowed it to sink in. Maybe at the time she had been too obscenely happy with Ryan to care that her best friend was getting married. The wedding was now two months away, and Meg had agreed to be Christine's maid of honor. Back in London, the two young women had spent hours on the phone discussing it. Christine had filled her ears endlessly with every last detail of her what her perfect wedding would be like, and as a good friend should, Meg listened. She had even contributed her own ideas and enthusiasm. Yes, Christine and Erik were going to be married. And months ago, which now seemed an eternity to Meg, she had been excited for her.

But, that was then, and this was now.

Her eyes read the formal lettering on the card. It was such a dainty, elegant invitation. It was so Christine, she thought. And now, holding it in her hands made it very real. Erik and Christine were getting married.

Meg bit her lip to keep the sobs from coming, and tears pricked at her eyes. Although she did not begrudge her former music teacher or her best friend their happiness, the invitation did nothing but make her feel worse about her own life, her own self. For God's sake, Christine was two years younger! And then Meg had to question again, why were things so easy for the woman who was practically her sister? Christine had coveted the starring role, and poof, she got it! She had fallen in love with Erik, and so easily he was hers. It only served to remind Meg that she had to struggle for what she had…

… And muddle through a string of men who did not want her.

That last thought was all it took, and after the invitation had strayed unnoticed from her fingers to the floor, Meg had fallen into a fit of self-pity.

Her doorbell rang just then, but she stayed still on the sofa, ignoring it. She reached for a tissue, and dabbed at the corners of her eyes, hoping that whoever it was would just go away. Persistently, the dinging of the bell continued, and now loud knocking accompanied it.

"Hello?" she heard a voice ring out.

Wiping her eyes, she only shook her head. The voice at her door was male and familiar and undeniably David's. It was the worst possible timing, and she could not imagine why she was cursed with being around a man to whom she was impossibly attracted. He seemed to follow her around like a puppy dog, yet he had made his feelings clear. And after the lustful dream she had just had about the man the night before, she dreaded facing him.

"Meggie? I know you're there. Open up."

"Go away," she whispered, her brows furrowed angrily. Then, her cell phone startled her as the familiar ring tone loudly filled the room.

"A ha! I knew it!" He sounded very smug. "I can hear your phone, now open up!"

Meg now recognized that her agent was not leaving, and grudgingly headed for her door. As she opened it, she looked up at him impatiently. "Yes, David?" she said coldly.

"Good morning, my blond angel!" he said enthusiastically with an irresistible grin.

The man was too charming, yet Meg found herself not in the mood for his flirty playfulness. Clearly, he was not waiting to be invited in and scooted past her arm as she stiffly held onto the door, leaving behind a tempting trail of his cologne in the air. Relentless, he made his way inside, briefcase in hand, and set it down on her dining room table.

Frustrated, she looked at him. "Why are you here, David? You should have called."

He held up his cell phone. "I just did." For the first time, he noticed the redness in her eyes, and the tissue crumpled in her hand. "Whoa, why the tears?"

Meg's eyes darted to the invitation on the living room floor. "Nothing."

_It's just that my best friend who is younger than me is getting married, and men keep rejecting me…_

As truthful as they were, Meg was loath to admit those words to the man standing in her dining room. "Why are you here, David?"

A smooth grin took over his concerned features, and he moved toward her. "I have good news."

Her curiosity was piqued, and she stood there before him, her arms folded across her chest, still trying to appear annoyed by his intrusion.

"They want you, Meggie," he smiled. "The boy band you've been opening up for wants to put you under contract to open for them on their concert tour!"

Meg's heart skipped a beat, and although inside she was bursting with excitement, her slippered foot tapped impatiently on her carpeted floor.

"Don't you know what this means?" he began, his eyes widening. "Once you've signed, you'll be looking at a record deal before you know it," he paused to see if his words were sinking in. "And by the way, if you can get that song finished, I can slip it in to Capitol Records…"

She shook her head all of a sudden, as though trying to slow the torrential pace of the opportunities flying at her. "It's too soon," she said, not feeling ready for any of this. It struck her then that she was not sure what it was that she wanted.

"That's how I work, Meggie. I seize the opportunity and jump in with both feet. In my experience, the faster we set the wheels in motion the better. That's the way it works," he explained happily, approaching the worried beauty, and taking her hands in his. Even in black sweats and with no makeup, he found her completely adorable.

As always, the touch of his hands sent her pulse racing. It was thrilling and maddening all at the same time. Pulling her hands from his, she mustered up all her anger and frustration. "No, David," she told him, stepping away. "This is not alright. You could have called me with this news, and messengered the contract to me."

"Listen," he said, taken aback by her displeasure, "I was excited. I wanted to deliver the news myself."

Smooth talker that he was, he always knew exactly what to say. And the speed at which he worked was positively terrifying to Meg. "No," she began, gritting her teeth, "No, no…I am firing you, David," she stated, her head spinning now that she finally said the words out loud. In truth, she'd been thinking about it for days, but after all he had done for her, she had not had the nerve to suggest switching to another agent. It should have come out reasonably, calmly over coffee maybe, and certainly with the sincerest of her apologies, but there it was, she said it, and it hung in the air over the two of them like a black cloud.

His dark brows rose in disbelief. "Sorry. What?"

The way she saw it, it was too late to take it back. "I am firing you."

He looked angry, and he shook his head in denial, but before he spoke a word, his eyes met hers. "Why?"

"Because…you are a terrible agent."

"I have worked my ass off for you, Meggie."

"You are completely unprofessional, David," she began with narrowed eyes, ready to drill into him with her long list of gripes. "You act like you're my bodyguard, and you follow me around, and…"

"And?" he demanded sharply, as though she should not have the nerve to say such things.

"And you stare at me," she yelled back haughtily. She folded her arms once again, and calmed her voice. "It's _very_ bothersome," she told him in her most matter-of-fact tone. In fact, nothing could have been further from the truth, but Meg's emotions were on a rampage.

"Bothersome," he repeated with a single nod, as though no bigger lie had ever been told.

"Yes. I'll repay you everything I owe you, David, but for now, I think it's best that I switch to another agent."

He was flabbergasted, and Meg could see the rage creasing lines in his forehead. She thought that he was a volcano ready to erupt, and as she braced herself for an explosion, David only shook his head in disbelief, and headed for her dining room table. With an expression of hurt and anger, he collected his briefcase and moved quickly to her door.

"Unprofessional," he repeated, shaking his head. Turning the doorknob, he turned to face her. "You see, Meggie, if you can find among the pack of wolves in this town, a decent agent out there; one who will treat you fairly and not take advantage of you."

He opened the door, and Meg felt stone cold as he eyed her angrily. "And remember this, princess…" he shouted as he stepped outside, "you are not a diva yet!" With that, he slammed the door shut behind him.

In shock, Meg barely had time to consider the rashness of her actions when David appeared through her front door once again.

"Unprofessional?" he said again, but now fury lit his grayish blue eyes.

In a flash he was before her, his steely gaze meeting her alarmed one, and his tone was as cold as ice.

"I'll show you unprofessional, missy."

Caught up in a whirlwind of anger, lust, and passion, David took Meg into his arms. His lips claimed hers with all the frustration, madness, and pent up desire he had held for this woman since the first night he watched her perform onstage in London.

David's kiss unsettled her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and no longer angry, Meg simply allowed herself to melt into his arms. As the kiss deepened, his grasp loosened, and his fingers moved across her cheeks and jaw in a soft caress. His lips softened against hers, brushing against them with an aching gentleness, as though he had at once realized what a fragile being she was. Meg pulled away then, looking to him as he stepped away from her, quietly admonishing himself.

"You're right," he said regretfully. "I apologize; that was very unprofessional of me, Meggie."

She threw her arms around him then. "There's something between us, David, don't you see? I don't really want to fire you. I was just frustrated."

Frustration was an emotion that he had known all too well. He let his fingers brush against the silky smoothness of her cheek, and steadied his gaze on the bewitching blue color of her eyes. "But, what about my rules?" he asked softly.

_Oh yes, the rules. Don't ever get involved with the clients…_

Meg smiled then, and to David she had never looked more like an angel as she stood on her tippie toes and kissed him once more.

Her eyes settled on his, and her pulse raced as she spoke. "Rules were made to be broken."

* * *

A/N: What can I say? You'll just have to trust me...and please leave a review! ;)


	44. A Lustful Halloween

A/N: Here is my tribute to one of my favorite holidays. I have taken a major liberty here in messing with my timeline to make this take place during Halloween. Hope you enjoy & please review!

**A Lustful Halloween**

They were like moths to a flame, and just a single look from David absolutely triggered an animal instinct inside Meg, one that she had not known had existed within her. She had never experienced such an attraction in her life, and only when their bodies met did she feel complete. Even now, two weeks since their first kiss, their first coupling, she felt that heated magnetism drawing her to the man.

Flirtatiously, she ran her thumb along the gentle ridges of his knuckles. It was an unconscious motion as she and David walked hand in hand across the huge warehouse room. In awe, Meg fingered the various fabrics from the long row of costumes as they passed.

"How about this one?" he asked with a smile, pausing before one, and pulling out the outfit before her.

Meg eyed the tiny, satin, baby blue leotard, and looked up at him incredulously. "No," she replied, touching the smooth satin of the accompanying bunny ears.

"You," he began with a grin, holding up the costume against her, "would make a perfect Playboy bunny. What do you think?" he asked with hope, raising his eyebrows up and down playfully.

"Maybe another time," Meg said with a smirk, backing away from the skimpy costume, and moving forward to inspect the vast array of outfits hung inside the wardrobe department.

David hung his head in disappointment. "Okay, so not for Halloween, but maybe for another occasion?" His face brightened as though his hope had been renewed.

She only gave a mischievous laugh, and with new hope he grasped the ears and stowed the Playboy bunny costume underneath his arm. Pulling out a nurse's costume, Meg eyed the short length of its accompanying skirt. Quickly, she replaced that outfit and picked up the next one: a harem girl with its sheer pantalets extending from its pink silky briefs. The shimmering waist shined with an excess of sequins, and the matching bikini top, also skimpy, was adorned with tiny beads and glittering decorations.

"This place is amazing, David. I'm so glad your friend was able to get us in," she remarked.

It was one of the perks of being in the business and having as many connections as he had. However, browsing through the wardrobe department inside the lot of Warner Bros studios, David found much less interest in finding himself a costume and a deeper interest in finding one for the gorgeous blond.

With a giggle, she pulled another outfit and held it up against her body. "Well?"

Distastefully, David frowned at the long black habit draped against her wondrous curves. "A nun? I don't think so."

Laughing, she replaced the habit, and picked up the next one: a bulky, bright yellow matching top and pants with a fluorescent stripe. In turn, David frowned again at the firefighter turnouts in her hand. "This is so much fun, David. Halloween in Paris isn't anything like it is here."

"Do people dress up in costumes?" he asked curiously.

"They do - mostly scary costumes like witches, and ghosts, and monsters, but…" she paused at a cheetah bodysuit. "Nothing like it is here."

He was quick to take the bodysuit and set it up against her, and nodded approvingly. "Really? Do they go trick or treating in France?"

Furrowing her brows together, she met his eyes. "Trick or treating? What is that?" After hanging the bodysuit back up, Meg's fingers continued to move from hanger to hanger.

"Oh, so you've never heard of trick or treating?" he asked sneakily.

She turned then to face him. "No."

"Well, it's very popular here. You see, the single men dress up in costumes," he explained with a grin.

"Uh huh?" Meg played along, already having recognized the playful tone of his words. Also, when he was joking or making something up, he kept one hand in his pocket, while gesturing with the other.

"And go door to door to the most beautiful women's houses and…"

Meg couldn't help but interrupt. "And they ask them to marry them."

His mouth fell agape at the young woman's humor. "Oh, that's funny, Meggie," he reprimanded between clenched teeth, taking the giggling blond into his arms. "Do you know what I did to the last woman who spoke to me like that?"

She tapped a thoughtful finger to her chin. "Let me think…you married her?"

"And see all this time, I've had it wrong. I should have been booking you for comedy clubs instead of concert tours," he joked, allowing his lips to find the sweet flesh of her neck.

Meg was loving the waves of chills his lips were producing, and her body hungered for more, but exercising some restraint, she managed to pull away. "David, we have to find something for the party tomorrow."

"Right…the party," he breathed, pulling her body back up against his, and setting a trail of kisses along her jaw line and up to her mouth.

Involuntarily, she shivered from the contact of his lips on hers, and as his talented tongue worked its magic, playfully teasing hers, Meg was soon lost…

_An indeterminable number of minutes later…_

David and Meg continued along the second row of costumes and Meg gasped as she spied a loincloth. Quickly she pulled it from the rack.

"Oh, it's perfect for you, David," she smiled, holding the small garment over his pants.

He didn't look impressed. "Not."

"Are you kidding?" she asked with a pout. "You Tarzan," she said suggestively, pointing to his chest and then pointed to herself, "me Marguerite."

A smile soon took to his lips. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yes."

With lightning speed, his fingers extracted the small brown garment from the hanger and proceeded to stuff it into her now ever-expanding handbag. "Okay," he said, peeking in at their personal collection. "We have the Playboy bunny, the sexy devil, the naughty angel, the Princess Lea slave costume, and Tarzan. Now, we have to find some costumes for tomorrow's party."

Nodding, the couple continued on when Meg halted. "I've got it! We'll dress up in suits, and I'll get a wig of short, red hair and we can be the agents from the X-Files - Mulder and Scully!"

Amused but not convinced, he shook his head. "No." After a few more steps, David halted, and as his bluish gray eyes met the bright red, velvet jacket, he smiled. "I found it. This is it."

* * *

David's eyes kept darting to the shimmering white tights that adorned Meg's long, shapely legs. His attention was supposed to be on the road, but kept moving back to the delicate pale green color of her costume. With its sexy sequined fitted bodice, and tulle petal skirt, the woman was a vision of fairy goodness. Her blond ringlets framed her face and played about her bare shoulders, and as appetizing as she looked, it was anybody's guess how they had even made it out the door.

Although she had not cared for how it appeared on the hanger, she rather liked how the waistcoat, black trousers, and long boots fit him, and with the long black wig and matching mustache, Meg was rather intrigued that she could barely recognize him. If not for his sultry bluish gray eyes, she might've wanted to slap the face of the cad who was having trouble keeping his hook off of her thigh as he drove.

She removed the plastic hook insert from his hand, and placed his hand on the steering wheel. "I'll thank you, Captain Hook to keep your eyes on the road, and hand on the wheel."

"Argggh, matey," he retorted. "Then, Tinkerbelle should not look so delectable…argggh!"

They pulled in to the party, and David handed his car keys to the valet attendant as he replaced the hook on his hand. Quickly joining his winged companion, his eyes roamed her luscious figure.

"Meggie, I lust you."

A smile curved at her lips. "What?"

They continued the walk up the long, open steps, taking their time as they strolled arm in hook. "What is love anyway? I've decided it's better we stay away from that word. Who really knows what love is? I think that when most people say they're in love, what they really mean is that they are in lust with the other person."

She had to consider that for a moment. Could that really have been the case with Erik, and Ryan? No, with Erik it was some kind of infatuation, but with Ryan… "Were you in love with your former wives, David?"

"Truthfully, in retrospect, I think it was lust. And what is lust anyway but an intense desire. At one time the word had nothing to do with being sexual. It simply meant a pleasure or delight. Like, I could say that I lust how full the moon looks tonight."

"Or I could say that I lust chocolate," Meg supplied.

He turned toward her, and ran a finger across the silver glitter sprinkled over her cheeks. "I lust you," he said softly.

With a smile, Meg put her hand over his. Love. She was actually afraid of that word herself. "David, I lust you, too."

* * *

"I lust Halloween," she shouted over the loud music as she danced, a little tipsy after a few drinks.

David laughed. "I lust this party." He was genuinely having a wonderful time, and could not remember the last time he had enjoyed himself so much. After his third divorce, his life had resembled that of a hermit's. Attending parties and other social gatherings had been a chore, but now with this lovely green fairy giggling and clinging to him, David had found joy in life once again.

"Oh," Meg laughed, pointing to a person dressed up as a glass of wine. "I lust that costume!"

They had made the necessary rounds, and David had introduced Meg to his many acquaintances and connections. The blond singer had been well liked, and never failed to leave a memorable impression. By the end of the night, Meg held onto David's arm tightly as they made their tottering way down the steps.

"I think, Tink, that you have had too much to drink," he told her, trying to help her keep her balance.

Her cheeks were rosy, and her blue eyes were glassy, and to David, every bit of her was beautiful.

The next morning…

"Good morning, sunshine," he told the blond lying in his bed. Her eyeliner and mascara were smeared, the glitter had faded, and Meg's ringlets were bent every which way.

"Good morning," she whispered groggily, squinting at the sunlight streaming in through the drapes. David's bed was huge and soft, and Meg had slept like a rock. In fact, every time she had spent the night, she had felt so happy and well rested. Finally when her eyes focused she found David wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts, and holding a tray. There was a vase with a single pink rose, and he had prepared a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, buttered toast, and coffee for her.

"Oh!" she said with delight, sitting up, and wiping her eyes. "David, this is perfect. I lust this!"

With a smile, he sat down on the bed beside her, his heart swelling as she took a drink of her coffee. She frowned as she noticed streaks of her makeup all over her hands and fingers, and snatching a napkin, she self-consciously wiped. "I must look terrible," she said, embarrassed, a pink color now filling her cheeks.

David was completely charmed by her. "Impossible," he told her, leaning in and brushing his lips against hers.

Meg's heart began to pound as he pulled away from her, his eyes settling that intense gaze on her. It made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world. The yearnings stirred within her once more, and she pulled him to her by his collar.

"I lust you, David," she said, claiming his lips with her own. He was older, divorced, flawed, and impossibly handsome, and looking up at him in his shirt and shorts she could not resist him. As her fingers gripped the tray to make room for David, he gripped her wrists with his hands.

"I lust you, too, Meggie, and I wanted to talk to you." David lifted the fork, poked at some of the eggs, and told her to say "ah".

Chewing quietly, she listened. He looked nervous, and his voice shook when he spoke. "Do you like my home?"

It was practically an estate, beautiful with hardwood floors, and cherry furnishings. His home was modern, gorgeous, and spacious. She took a drink of her coffee then, her eyes gazing at David's master suite- oversized, decorated with earth tones, and every bit of it comfortable. "I lust it!"

He took his hands in hers then. "Move in with me. I want you with me day and night, Meggie. Please. Say you'll move in with me."

Her jaw dropped and her heart pounded in her ears. The feelings that she had for this man had grown deeply in the last two weeks they had been together- so deeply that it was almost scary.

Again, the words of the gentle stranger sounded in her mind. "Don't waste another day…"

Meg shut away all the doubts and questions from her mind, forcing herself to live in the moment.

"Yes, David. I will move in with you."

* * *


	45. The News

A/N: My sincerest thanks goes out to Timeflies, Mominator, and Passed Over for reviewing last chapter. I always love to hear from you!

**The News**

"He's 42."

"42!" Christine exclaimed so loudly on the other end of the phone that Meg was prompted to move the receiver from her ear.

"So what?" Meg said defensively. "So, he's 42…"

"But, Meg," Christine complained, sitting in bed and receiving a strange look from her fiancée beside her. "That's so oooold!" she cried out.

"Uh, hello?" Meg countered, digging out some jewelry from the silver antique box in front of her that sat inside another larger cardboard box.

Erik looked to Christine and elbowed his beloved. "Hello?" he said impatiently with a wave of his hand. "Old?"

"Oh, I know," Christine replied dismissively, looking to the former phantom and speaking into the phone. "But Erik's forty, and anyway _he_ hasn't been divorced _three_ times!"

"Yes, well," Meg began, pulling some gold chains from her jewelry box. Her fingers fussed with the knot binding the three necklaces together. "Nobody's perfect."

"Meg, I just talked to you two weeks ago, and you never even mentioned going out with your agent, and now you're moving in with him?"

Erik looked to Christine in surprise, and leaned his head down onto Christine's shoulder to listen.

Meg could hardly believe it herself, and even though piles of her clothing were scattered about his bed, and boxes and suitcases of her personal belongings filled the room, the reality of the situation had not truly sunken in.

"David doesn't like to waste time."

It was true. Professionally, David had seized every opportunity since he had met Meg, and in just a short amount of time had accomplished enviable results. She learned that he was this way with his personal life as well.

Again the words of the gentle stranger echoed in her mind._ Don't waste another day._

"I don't know, Meg. It seems too soon."

She had not expected any less from Christine, and though Meg had hoped her to be supportive, she knew it was too much to ask. Meg heaved a frustrated sigh, and bunched the impossibly tangled chains back into the shiny silver box. Quickly she set the jewelry box onto the smooth wooden surface of David's dresser.

"Please, Christine," she pleaded, moving to another corner of his king sized bed, and unzipped a large suitcase. "I really care for David, and he really cares for me. Can't you just be happy for me?"

"Sure."

Meg's brows furrowed together at Christine's surprising response. "Really?"

"Absolutely," Christine replied. "When I am standing there behind you at the altar, and David is putting a ring on your finger, I will be _very_ happy for you."

"That's not fair!" Meg argued, lifting folded shirts and undergarments, and throwing them angrily onto the bed. "You and Erik aren't married yet, and you've been living together all this time!"

"Excuse me," Christine said, arms folded defensively. "I have known Erik for a very long time. Besides that, Meg, forget what I think. What about Mama? What do you think _she's_ going to say?"

Meg froze for a second. She had been so engrossed in her life and relationship that she had not given a thought to what her mother's opinion would be.

"Meg?" Christine questioned. The silence caused her to believe that the line might have gone dead. "Meg?"

"I'm here," the blond said meekly.

"You still haven't told her you moved to California. She still thinks you live in London," Christine pointed out, looking to Erik for confirmation only to find that he was on his back sleeping peacefully.

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her," Meg replied casually, gathering a pile of white socks and placing them into an empty drawer. Though she said the words, she was not necessarily convinced they were true.

"Meg?!" she exclaimed, startling her bed partner, and evoking a very masculine, grumpy groan.

"I know. I'll deal with her. Don't worry."

"You'd better do it soon before she and Nadir decide to surprise you with a visit to London," Christine informed her.

"I'll take care of it," Meg assured her, taking another pile of clothing from the suitcase and stuffing it into another empty drawer without sorting it.

"Meg?"

Her voice sounded so small all of a sudden that Meg became concerned. "What is it?"

"You're still coming, aren't you? You told me that you signed a contract and that you're going on tour, but you'll still be here for the wedding, won't you?"

Grateful to her best friend for changing the subject, Meg smiled. "Yes. David made a stipulation in the contract for that week due to a previous engagement, and so it is all taken care of. I will be there."

Christine's sigh of relief was audible. The young diva just could not imagine getting married without Meg there. The very thought of it was unthinkable. "Good."

At that moment, David entered his bedroom to find his new roomie unpacking. He found the image of the voluptuous blond settling into his house very appealing. Beautiful and sweet, she was cradling the phone to her ear with her shoulder, busily stowing away an empty suitcase underneath his bed. Quietly, he snuck up behind her, and encircled his arms around her small waist. His lips sought the creamy flesh of her neck just below her ear.

Startled, Meg turned to him and smiled.

Thousands of miles away, Christine sat in her bed, noting the bright light of the moon streaming in through the window, sober again with the realization that her friend was across an entire continent. To her dismay, her fiancée began to snore. Loudly.

"Is that Erik?" Meg asked with a laugh.

"Yes," Christine replied with irritation, leaning over and nudging him.

"Well, it's late over there, and so I'll let you go…"

"Meg?" Christine said again.

"Yes?"

"I miss you."

Meg's eyes began to fill with tears. She missed Christine so much that it hurt. "I miss you too." She pressed the button to end the call and let the phone drop lightly onto the bed.

"So, how did your mom take the news?" David asked, holding tightly to her back and swaying her from side to side.

"That wasn't my mother. That was my friend, Christine."

David turned the blond to face him. "Oh. Well, you were going to call your mother next, right?"

"No, she and my step dad would already be asleep."

"I wouldn't put it off too long."

Now that Christine's voice was not filling her ears with threats and uncertainties, putting off calling her mom sounded perfect.

"I don't know…" Meg said uncertainly.

"Just call and tell her tomorrow morning, Meggie. It'll be fine," he assured her.

"You don't understand. I never told her I left London," she admitted guiltily.

His bluish gray eyes widened. "Jesus, Meggie, she doesn't know you're in the United States?"

Her sheepish look gave him his answer. "You don't know my mother. It was hard enough breaking the news to her about Ryan."

David simply shook his head. "Well, when were you planning on telling her that you moved five thousand miles away? Before your friend's wedding? And then, are you planning to wait another six months before telling her about me?"

"No, no, I'm going to tell her. Well, I mean, I don't think that I'll tell her that we're living together just yet, but I'll say that we're seeing each other."

He pulled away from her then, still shaking his head, and walked to his oversized walk-in closet.

Christine's words flooded her mind and filled her with doubt. "David?"

He peeked his head out from the closet. "Yes?"

"Are you sure we're doing the right thing?" she asked, her voice full of doubt.

In a flash David was before her, and taking her into his arms. "Of course."

"Really? You don't think it's too soon?"

His eyes met the wide-eyed gaze of his client. She was so young and so naïve about the ways of the world. "Meggie, I am crazy about you. I am not some young man who is afraid of his feelings, and am certainly not going to go running back to any of my former wives. So, no, when I am as sure as I am about the way I feel about you, I don't like to waste time."

Seemingly, his little speech was reassurance enough, and after enveloping her in a kiss that left her breathless, Meg felt no more doubts.

"I am a patient man, and I am not so insecure that I can't understand why you will not tell your mother that you are living with me. Having you here with me, Meggie, is all that matters." He gave her a smile and retreated back to the closet to make more room.

The former dancer felt very lucky at that moment, and with renewed determination, she resolved to call her mother the very next morning.

_Paris- the next day_…

Antoinette shooed her husband away with a wave of her hand as she tried to listen carefully to her daughter on the other end of the line. She was seated in the study and busily going over the bills when the phone rang.

Nadir had appeared in the doorway, quickly intercepting the call. Erik had already forewarned him about Meg's call, and the good friend that he was, Nadir was sure to answer it before she did. After a brief conversation with Meg, he handed the phone to his wife.

Antoinette could not be sure what had come over the man. With the stealth of a fox, he was behind her, and Nadir had taken to nibbling her ear lobe, greatly distracting the former ballet manager from her dear Meg's words.

"Stop!" she hissed to the olive-skinned man, covering the mouthpiece with an elegant hand. Quickly, she moved her fingers away and spoke into the telephone. "Yes, dear. I am listening."

His nimble fingers took to his wife's light brown hair, pulling out pin after pin, and unraveling it from its tight bun.

Thoroughly enjoying this, Antoinette shivered from the glorious release from the binding of her hair, and now from the magic Nadir was working as he caressed her scalp with capable fingers. Her daughter was speaking a mile a minute, and it was all Antoinette could do to focus on the meaning of her words. "Meg, slow down," she replied into the phone.

Nadir moved his fingers to his wife's neck, massaging and caressing, trying to hear Meg's voice on the line. He heard something about an agent, and in an effort to gauge his love's reaction he bent down and moved his fingers down to her back.

"I'm here," Antoinette said, closing her eyes, and thoroughly enjoying the wonderful massaging of Nadir's fingers. "I'm still listening. You said that now you have an agent."

"How do I feel about the United States?" she asked into the phone.

His blackish brown eyes widened, and in alarm he moved his lips to the soft skin of her neck. With a smile, he noticed her body relax.

Uselessly, she tried to wave him away again, although the last thing she wanted was for him to leave. "I would rather like to travel there one day, sweetheart. Just let me know when a good time would be and Nadir and I will come visit you there in California."

Releasing his lips from her neck, he moved to face her in surprise.

"Yes, of course I know, Meg. Actually, Ryan called weeks ago- the same afternoon you gave me the news about your breakup. He told me about his friend, David, your agent, I presume, and that he was sure you would be in good hands in California."

Nadir could hear the high pitch of Meg's exclamations.

"Yes, calm down, Meg. I have known all this time. I was just waiting for you to tell me."

Her gaze met her husband's with a sneaky smile, and she took a long piece of light brown hair and twirled it flirtatiously around her finger. "You are an adult, and besides, I have a life. My whole world doesn't revolve around you, love."

Wow, Nadir thought, _that _was rather anticlimactic, but in a good way.

He left her alone to her conversation, and was surprised when ten minutes later, after setting a cup of tea down on the desk in front of her, that Antoinette was now doling out advice about love.

"I don't think it's a good idea, Meg. You hardly know this David, and you're still trying to get over Ryan," she muttered to her daughter as though the young woman had no sense in her pretty blond head.

After taking a sip of tea, she blew a kiss to her husband and winked.

"Meg, listen to your mother. You are in a foreign country facing all these new experiences. Don't rush into a relationship with David. Take it slow."

Nadir smiled as he watched Antoinette advise her daughter on the ways of love, and adored the way the woman's long light brown locks fell into a soft curl around her elbows. It reminded him of their wedding day. It wasn't long before he was behind her again, his lips attached to her neck once more.

"You'll be here for the wedding, won't you?" she asked, closing her eyes as Nadir's lips took the desired effect on her body. "Alright, Meg, call me again soon. Yes, I miss you too. Oh, and one last thing, Meg, don't keep secrets from your mother."

There was a silence on the other end of the line, but Antoinette did not want to think about that at that moment as she said her final goodbye to her daughter.

The olive skinned man quickly hung the phone up for her, and claimed her lips as though he had not tasted their sweetness in months. "How was Meg?" he whispered huskily, now unzipping the back of her blouse.

"She's fine. Sounds like she's trying to rush a relationship with her agent," Antoinette replied breathlessly, now unbuttoning her husband's shirt.

"Is that right?"

"Yes," Antoinette giggled, her hands running through the dark hair of his chest. "Kids these days. Next thing you know, she'll be moving in with him."

* * *

A/N: You're probably wondering if this is ever going to end. I assure you we still have a ways to go, so please hang in there with me and read and review- please? ;)


	46. Trouble in Paradise

A/N: Thanks to all of you who have reviewed! Love you people!

**Trouble in Paradise**

5 months later- Paris

_"I hate you!" she screamed, her soft features contorted with anger as her fists pounded at his chest. "She doesn't love you. Christine NEVER loved you!"_

_Erik could barely comprehend the flood of emotions erupting from the lips of the graceful dancer. All this time she had been in love with him and he had been clueless to her feelings. Although her confession of love was a great gift, Erik could not seem to get past Meg's harsh words. With fire in her blue eyes, she had told him that Christine did not love him, and in Erik's soul, he knew that was untrue._

_He turned his eyes back to the statue of the monkey playing the piano. It had been Meg's special gift to him. The statue was more meaningful and priceless than any of his possessions, and yet Meg's spiteful words grated in his ears. _

_The phantom stood there, just a few feet from his shiny grand piano, and turned his back away from the furious blond. The musty air played at his nostrils, and the dim light from the candles cast shadows upon the cavern's stone walls. Despite his wretched past, the opera ghost had never felt so low in his life as his young pupil bawled out hurtful utterances. That was when it hit him; there was a sharp, painful blow to the back of his head, and then everything went black…_

Erik sat up in bed, and his heart was pounding a mile a minute. Christine stirred by his side, and set her small hand on his shoulder.

"Erik? Are you all right? You were having a nightmare."

Erik, he thought. Yes, Erik is my name, his mind confirmed, and grasping her small, feminine hand into his own, he looked down to the beauty lying beside him.

"You are Christine," he stated with relief, and his deep blue eyes roamed the room, registering the familiar surroundings of his bedroom- the Italian dresser and matching armoire, the French doors, and the entertainment center he had built with his own two hands. All at once his whole body relaxed as though a boa constrictor had finally released him from its deadly grip.

Wiping her eyes, the brunette sat up beside him. "Yes, I am Christine."

After breathing another sigh of relief, he set a gentle kiss upon his angel's lips. Lying backward, Erik yawned. "I'm sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep."

Large, concerned brown eyes met his as she lay back down beside him. "Erik, this is the third nightmare this week. Were you dreaming I was the wicked witch again?"

"No. Go back to sleep," he murmured, draping an arm over her shoulder.

She rolled over, facing away from him, and cuddled her backside into his. "Or was it the one where you dreamt that you were kissing Raoul?" she asked, a smile touching her lips.

He leaned up on his elbow then, and looked seriously into her eyes. "Christine, never speak of that dream again. EVER."

Christine suppressed a giggle. "Then tell me."

Erik nuzzled his nose into the head of curls, inhaling the sweet lavender scent of her hair.

He knew that if he did not tell her that he would never get any sleep. Holding onto the silence for as long as he could, he waited, hoping that soon he would hear the telltale sound of her breathing, hoping that she had drifted off to sleep.

"Erik! I'm still awake."

"Fine. I dreamt that I lost my memory."

She turned over to face her fiancée, meeting the vulnerability in those deep blue eyes. "Oh, one of _those_ dreams…" Christine gathered by his reluctance to speak of it that it truly bothered him. "Well, you have your one-year follow up in the morning." She puckered up her lips as she spoke, "And I'm suwe the doctow wiw confiwm that youw head is aww bettew."

Blankly, he looked at the young woman before him while her fingers gently stroked his hair. "Right, well I'll go see the quack in the morning. Everything will be fine." Pulling her body tightly into his so that her chest was right up against his, his fingers tickled the curve of her waist with his fingers. "And for God's sake, angel. You know I hate it when you talk baby talk to me."

Another yawn escaped him, and just as he was about to drift off to sleep, Christine spoke again.

"It's aww wight, Ewik, go back to sweep."

* * *

Sipping at her coffee, Christine quietly pored over a mess of catalogs and magazines at the dining room table.

Erik entered with a smile, and set a kiss on Christine's cheek. "Good morning, Christine."

She sat up and turned her attention away from the clipboard in front of her. "You were supposed to wake me."

"I know, but you were sound asleep."

Christine rolled her eyes. She had had trouble getting back to sleep due to the former phantom's snoring. "You knew I wanted to go with you to see the doctor."

Daphne entered then in her customary uniform, and smiled her greeting to Erik. Quickly, she headed back for the kitchen to retrieve some coffee.

"I know, angel, but there was no need. The quack said my head is fine," he explained, taking the chair at the head of the table and reaching for a muffin.

"But, I wanted to go."

The blond maid entered once more with a mug of coffee in hand, and set it down on the table before the man of the house. As the Meg look-a-like bounced out of the room, Christine shook her head.

"I'm fine, Christine," he assured her, taking a chunk of blueberry muffin and popping it into his mouth.

She was silent for a moment, and simply sat there, glaring at him.

"What?" he asked defensively, not liking at all the harsh vibe he was receiving from his fiancée.

"It's just that here it is, a year later. You have your memory back and you still aren't any closer to finding out _how_ you hit your head."

Somehow, all this time he had managed to avoid this dangerous topic. After taking a sip of his coffee, he shook his head. "It's true, Christine, and I wish you would _stop_ bringing it up."

"It bothers me, Erik. How can you not know how it happened?"

"My love," he began calmly, "there are things about that night I simply do not recall."

"But, you remember everything else up until then…"

"Yes," he snapped, his deep blue eyes lighting up with fire. "I do recall you and Raoul singing to each other on the rooftop."

Christine's mouth fell open. "That is neither here nor there…"

Sharply, Erik stood up. "Just let it go," he said sternly, moving toward the grand hallway.

"Where are you going?" Christine cried.

With an impatient sigh, he turned to her. "I am going to compose," he told her matter-of-factly.

"But wait, Erik," she uttered desperately, "I wanted to talk to you about the flowers for the wedding, and the…"

"Whatever you choose will be fine."

The buxom maid appeared once again, and leaned down in front of Christine to retrieve the discarded muffin wrapper. At the sight of the woman's cleavage, Christine simply turned her face away, and waited patiently for Daphne to leave the room.

"Erik?" Christine hissed, rising and meeting him before he left the room. "When are you going to talk to her?"

Erik took a deep breath, and smiled at his beloved. He could see she was under a lot of stress planning this wedding. "Soon," he told her, setting a kiss upon her cheek. "I promise."

Folding her arms, Christine seethed as Erik set off to lock himself in his music room. In a fit of anger, she hurried back to the table, and in one long swoop, shoved the scattered magazines and catalogs onto the floor.

* * *

_Los Angeles_

David and Meg were awakened by the familiar ring tone, and Meg groped for the cell phone on the nightstand before her.

With a groan, David muttered, "Who is that? Why are they calling at this hour?"

"It's Christine," Meg replied, and eyeing the late hour on the clock, considering whether to let it go to voicemail.

"Doesn't she know the time difference by now?"

Ignoring him, she flipped open the phone. "Hello, Christine?"

"Meg! I'm so glad you answered." Her voice sounded relieved.

"Yes, what's going on?"

"I need you to come get me."

The blond rubbed her eyes, thinking that she was either hearing things, or that her friend had had too much to drink. "Christine, you're not making any sense."

"I'm here, Meg. I'm at LAX."

Christine's words hit her like a bolt of lightning, and Meg sat up in surprise. "What? You and Erik are here, at the airport?"

David turned and flipped on the lamp beside him. "What's going on?" he whispered.

"No, just me. Meg, will you come pick me up?"

A feeling of dread filled every bone in her body, but Meg refused to let her voice reflect it. "Yes, of course. I'm on my way."

* * *

"So, what are you doing here, Christine?" Meg asked, pouring some steaming water into a cup for her friend as they sat in the living room.

Upon meeting at the airport, the two women had embraced, holding each other tightly for what seemed like minutes, allowing the gap of time apart to be filled with a single hug.

Nervously, Meg had introduced David to Christine, fully aware of the disapproval that Christine had stated over the phone in Paris. But, now, her friend was full of smiles, and had even embraced David.

The two women's chatter filled his ears as he drove the two beauties back to his home, having insisted on Christine staying with them while she was in town. The brunette appeared tired, but in good spirits and was very grateful for his hospitality.

"I just needed to get away," Christine replied, now dipping the teabag into her cup.

David had gone to bed, and Meg felt like she could really get into what the heart of what was going on. It was not like Christine to travel alone, especially to a whole other continent.

"But, Christine, you're getting married next week!" she exclaimed, taking a bag of chocolate chip cookies and setting it between them.

"Yeah…"

"I thought you would be up to your ears in wedding preparations."

Christine rolled her eyes. "You don't even know. You are so lucky _you're_ not the one getting married, Meg."

The blond let the hurtful remark slide down her back, knowing that Christine had not meant it the way it was said. "Yes," she said cheerfully. "I feel lucky. Anyway, I can't believe that Erik let you travel all the way here alone, and that you didn't call me before you left…"

The silence of her friend, and the way Christine's eyes refused to meet hers somehow told her something she had not known. "Erik doesn't know you're here, does he?"

Silence.

"Christine, what is going on?"

Tears began to fill her eyes. "He's impossible, Meg."

For the next twenty minutes, Christine hit Meg with a barrage of complaints about her fiancée, everything from his snoring to the way he would forget to screw back the cap on the toothpaste.

Tired, Meg rubbed her eyes. "Christine," she interrupted, having stopped her mid-sentence. "You don't travel five thousand miles because a man leaves the lid up on the toilet. Tell me what this is really about."

She was shaking her head, and her eyes became glassy again. "Breasts. You remember Daphne?"

Meg nodded. Everyone seemed to think that they were practically twins, and Meg had never seen the resemblance.

"Well, I am sick and tired of not being able to enjoy a meal because her breasts- her cleavage is in my face. She wears that skimpy little maid outfit…"

"Why don't you tell her something?"

"We're not married yet. I'm not the lady of the house, and I keep telling Erik to talk to her. Sometimes I think, Meg, that there is something going on between them."

"No," Meg refuted. If she knew Erik, that thought was more unlikely than the man growing feathers and clucking like a chicken.

Christine took a cookie and stuffed it into her mouth, chewing while she spoke. "It's not just that, Meg," she said, shaking her head, and filling her mouth with another bite. "He composes all day and night. Lately he's working on another opera even though we haven't begun production of "Don Juan Triumphant" and it's like I'm not even there. And, he doesn't want to have anything to do with the wedding planning…"

"He's a man. That's typical," Meg reminded her.

Meg's cell phone rang just then, and she quickly recognized the number from overseas.

"It's Erik."

"Don't answer it," Christine told her, holding the bag of cookies to her chest with one hand, and making a halting motion with her other.

"Hello, Erik." Meg paused, watching as her friend pleaded with her to not give her away. "Christine? No, I haven't heard from her. She's not there?"

"Ask him how long have I been missing," Christine whispered, nibbling on another cookie.

Meg relayed the question to the distressed voice on the other end of the line. "Oh, you're not sure, huh?"

The brunette gave her very best friend a knowing look. "See?" she asked, shaking a cookie at her.

"Maybe she's shopping or making last minute preparations or something…" Meg furrowed her brows at her friend for her irresponsible action. She could tell that her former music teacher was sick with worry. "All right, Erik, calm down. I'm sure she's fine. I'll call you if I hear something."

Flipping closed the phone, Meg sighed. "Listen, Christine, as much as I love seeing you and having you here, leaving Paris without telling Erik wasn't the smartest thing to do."

Heaving a sigh, Christine looked to her friend, and with lips trembling, she said, "I haven't told you the worst part, Meg. Erik is hiding something from me."

"What?"

"He won't tell me how his head got injured."

* * *

A/N: I just couldn't resist stirring the pot! Can't wait to hear what you think!


	47. Connection

**Connection**

"Erik won't tell me how his head got injured."

Stunned, Meg felt as though she had been zapped by a taser. As sleepy as she had felt just moments before, Christine's words had jolted her awake. Meg could hardly register the weepy, desperate look on her friend's face, too caught up in her own shock.

"W…why not?" Meg stammered, trying to calm the rattling of her nerves. For as long as she had known the young orphan, Meg had managed to keep her feelings about her former tutor to herself. In a nervous motion, Meg tore the bag of cookies from Christine's grasp and stuffed an entire cookie into her mouth.

"He says he doesn't remember."

At once, Meg felt the tension drop from her body like a coat of heavy armor. She swallowed the last bite of her cookie, and making sure that she had heard correctly, she repeated, "Erik doesn't remember how?"

After grabbing a cookie from the bag in her friend's protective grasp, Christine took a bite. "No," she replied, clearly annoyed as she chewed. "Can you believe that? He remembers everything else."

"_What_ does he remember?" Meg asked with her mouth full, feeling the angry beat of her heart pounding in her chest.

Christine shrugged. "He had spied Raoul and me on the roof, and in a rage slipped back into his lair. Erik claimed that he was so angry that he started throwing things, and knocking over chairs and tables, and…"

Wide eyed, Meg's hand had stuffed another cookie into her mouth. "Then?"

At this, Christine sighed and put her own cookie down. "Then the last thing he remembered was that everything went black."

"Oh," Meg said with relief.

"Oh, exactly! It doesn't make any sense!"

"Maybe, in his rage," Meg offered, "he had thrown something- one of his knick knacks up into the air, and it…it…"

"What?" Christine asked incredulously. "It dropped onto the back of his head? See how that sounds? It makes no sense!"

"I think," the blond stated calmly, mustering up as much confidence as she could, "that maybe the man has been through enough, Christine. For almost two years Erik didn't know who he was," she pointed out, "and now he's finally putting his life back together." She steadied her gaze on Christine's face, though avoiding her eyes. "Maybe you should just let it go."

Christine's large brown eyes met the blue eyes of her best friend's, feeling the exhaustion from the jet lag setting in. She sighed once more, and spoke again, "Maybe you're right."

A smile curved at Meg's lips. "Of course I am." A yawn emerged from her mouth suddenly, reminding her of the late hour. She took the now half-empty bag of cookies and folded it closed. "How about I show you to the guest room?"

A yawn had quickly spread to Christine's mouth, and she stood to follow her friend, her body now yearning for the comfort of a bed. With a nod, she reached out her arms and took her surprised friend into her embrace. "Thank you, Meg. I'm sorry for showing up like this. You are a true friend."

Meg's arms tightened around the woman who was the closest thing she had to a sister. She had avoided telling the truth, feeling that it would only bring up hard feelings and doubts before Christine's wedding. Her wedding to Erik was supposed to take place in seven more days, and in only two more days, Meg was to be flying to Paris herself to be there. If there was still to be a wedding, Meg thought. Somehow or other, she had to send the brunette back to Paris.

The wedding must still go on, she knew, and Meg felt completely responsible. It was true she had not been honest with Erik or Christine about his accident, and as much as she dreaded it, she knew that one day the truth would eventually come out.

* * *

"I don't know," Meg whispered to David later that morning. "I hope so."

He was the only one who appeared to be wide-awake as he poured some more coffee into his stainless steel mug, and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm sure everything will work out."

"I hope…"

After setting down his coffee, he took Meg into his arms, running his fingers through damp blond locks.

Wearing the jeans and red blouse from the night before, Christine pulled her hair into a ponytail, and without a speck of makeup to cover the bags under her eyes, she walked into the kitchen to find the couple in each other's arms by the sink. David was dressed in gray slacks, and pinstriped light blue shirt, and Meg in a thick pink robe. Christine was immediately taken by how tender David was to Meg. Since they had met at the airport the night before, Christine had observed the small exchanges between the two of them. Whether it was a look, or a soft peck on the cheek, she could clearly see the bond they had to one another. And now, watching as their lips met, Christine missed the warmth of Erik's lips.

With a clear of her throat, Christine waited patiently while the startled pair pulled from one another. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Meg echoed brightly, moving toward the cupboard to retrieve two mugs.

"Didn't expect to see you up so early," David commented. "In fact, I have to get to a meeting, so I will be leaving you ladies alone," he smiled.

"Oh, could you…?" Meg began, but before she could finish her sentence, he interrupted.

"Yes, I will postpone your meeting with Capitol Records."

"Thank you," she said adoringly, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"I've gotta run, see you later, Christine." With a wave of his hand, and a kiss on Meg's lips he was off.

Meg filled Christine's cup with a smile, and then filled her own, still glancing back as he left. She loved the scent of his cologne that he left behind, lingering in the air. "I lust that man," she said with a sigh, setting down the two cups of coffee on the kitchen table.

"Lust?"

"Yeah," she giggled, pulling open the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of flavored creamer. "It's a thing we say to one another. We're both terrified of the word "love", so we say lust instead."

"You know, Meg. When I came here I was determined not to like him."

Her blue eyes met Christine's, searching the guarded expression on her friend's face. "And now?"

"I think David is wonderful."

She clapped excitedly at her friend's response, and her face lit up. "Oh, Christine, he treats me like a queen. He rubs my feet when I'm tired, brings me breakfast in bed, and then there's the late night massages…"

Christine nodded, and her lips formed a sad sort of smile. "He seems very attentive."

"He is! He hasn't said it, but I think he's giving some of his clients away to spend more time with me."

"That's sweet," Christine said, envy gnawing at her insides. "You were going to have a meeting with Capitol Records?"

Meg took a sip of her coffee. "Yes, it's going to be my second meeting. I'm supposed to look over some music."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Meg. Don't let my being here stop you. You should go."

"No, it's alright, Christine. David's been pushing this meeting for months, and believe me, I'm in no rush," she confided. "Right now, I'm just having fun doing the concert performances."

"How exciting!" For weeks, her own life had been all about wedding planning, and it became so overwhelming at times that she had been tempted to call the whole affair off.

"So, now, I have a ticket to fly to Paris in a few days. Will I still be needing to take that flight?" Meg inquired, having struggled with just how to bring up this delicate subject.

"I don't know. I miss him, Meg, I really do," Christine admitted. "But, I hate when he just disappears into his music room. When he composes, he can be in there for days. He seems to forget that I even exist. "

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true. If you talk to-"

"And then there's the other side, where he's in my head," she then complained, "and it's really annoying when I'm singing or busy doing something where I have to concentrate-"

"Alright, then, just-"

"Then, there's the thing with Daphne-"

"Oh, well, you should-"

"But, I do miss Erik," Christine cut in. "I feel like we haven't really connected in weeks," she said miserably. Even when they were in each other's company, she missed the warmth behind the affection. Their love had become so routine. "It's just like when he lost his memory, and he had disappeared. I couldn't feel him anymore."

Meg sighed then in spite of her efforts. She could not relate to this telepathic connection that Christine and Erik shared, but she had admired it. "Well…"

"_Christine?"_

Christine was struck just then, and her eyes became as round as saucers as her mind was filled with the ethereal voice.

"_Christine?"_

"What?" Meg asked. "Christine, what's wrong?"

The brunette's pulse raced, and she smiled then. Tears filled her eyes. "It's Erik. He's calling me!"

Meg was confused. "On the phone?" she asked, wondering where she had left her tiny cell phone.

"No! It's unbelievable! 5,000 miles away and I can hear his voice. I feel him!" she exclaimed, standing up from the table and leaving her coffee untouched. Her legs carried her quickly out of the kitchen.

"What are you doing, Christine? Where are you going?" Meg called out, bursting from her chair to catch up with her friend.

Tears spilled down Christine's cheeks, and sniffling, she spoke. "I have to go home. I'm getting married in a few days!"

Later that afternoon…

The powerful rumble of the airplanes seemed to shake the surface below their feet, and three pairs of eyes studied the information on the flight screen. Christine's flight was being called to board over the intercom, and Meg took her friend into her arms once more.

"I'll see you in a couple of days," Christine whispered happily, squeezing her friend tightly. She turned to David then and gave him a big, warm hug. "And will you be joining Meg, I hope?"

David shrugged, his uncomfortable expression visible on his face. "Unfortunately, I will not be. I have work here."

Sadly, Christine smiled. Meg had already explained how David was not particularly fond of weddings. "Well, you'll be missed. It was great meeting you finally."

He smiled back, and put an arm around Meg's shoulder. "It was wonderful meeting you, Christine."

With a final kiss and hug, Christine gripped her handbag and carry on, and then moved to the line to pass through security. "Bye," she whispered, her eyes tearing up once again at the thought of parting from her friend.

Meg's eyes also were brimming as she waved. "I'll see you soon, very soon."

* * *

A/N: The truth will come out, just not yet because I felt like I only needed to bring it up at this point to set up what's in store for later. A big thanks goes out to those who have reviewed. Thanks for sticking with me...we still have a ways to go. As always, I love to hear from you!


	48. Déjà Who?

Deja Who?

"Thank you," David whispered to Meg admiringly as she set the file folder on his desk. Quickly he resumed his conversation with the voice on the other end of the phone.

The blond bowed to him, swaying her hips seductively as she exited his office, feeling his gaze settled on her as she walked. Once the door closed behind her, she pulled herself back into business mode and took the seat at Jenna's desk. For a full two hours, she had become quite comfortable tending to the receptionist's duties.

He buzzed in, startling her as she sat perusing the schedule for the day.

"Hello, sexy."

"Hello, Mr. Campbell," she greeted back using her best American accent, and holding down the button on the intercom. "Ready for more coffee?" Meg asked.

David chuckled. "You know, Jenna was never this good to me. Thank you for filling in for her today, Meggie. The schedule this morning is crazy." He was extremely grateful because Meg already had a good understanding of how the office was run, and bringing in a temp often brought more frustration for him than it was worth.

"You owe me," Meg told him, keying a password onto the computer. She liked thinking of all the ways he might repay her that night. In truth, she had not minded, and rather liked the change of pace. Besides, her plane was leaving for Paris the next day, and they would be apart for a whole week; the separation was a thought she did not like to think about.

A loud ring broke their conversation, and Meg was quick to answer it. David let the lovely blond resume her temporary duties, and after transferring the call to him, he buzzed in again.

"Meggie? Will you pull the file for Lisa Cameron?" he requested. The woman's status with the agency had been put on hold since she had given birth three months prior, and David thought it best for the moment to transfer her to another agent.

"Sure thing," Meg replied, rising from the desk.

"Do you know where to find it? It's in the file cabinet…"

"Under c," she finished for him, assuring her agent with her tone that she had it under control.

He smirked. "Right," he replied, feeling very lucky that Meg's day was clear. And, even though he was distracted by the no nonsense way she wore her black leather skirt, and a pink silk button up blouse, he vowed to do his best to remain professional while at the office. But once they closed up for the evening, David could hardly wait to unpin the long blond locks from the stern bun that sat neatly atop her head.

The tall file cabinet sat directly behind the desk, and Meg pulled open the first drawer, labeled A-G. Repeating the client's name aloud, her fingers moved to the large folder marked "C".

"Cameron," she repeated, thumbing through file after file. Absently, she read the names aloud, "Caballero, Cabot, Calderon, Calhoun, Cambridge, Camden…" Skipping too far forward, she ran across the name "Campbell," and paused for a moment, her brows crinkling in confusion. _Campbell?_ Now overwhelmed by curiosity, Meg extracted the file folder for Campbell, and taking the seat back at her desk, her eyes devoured the information belonging to the three females who had little in common save the surname they shared.

There it was before her in black and white, and Meg's jaw dropped at the sight of the pages and pages of information, the headshots, and the bios.

Michelle, Tabitha, and Linda…Campbell.

David was caught by surprise as the angry blond stormed her way into his office.

"That was quick," he commented, but frowned as she dropped the thick file folder onto his desk, clearly not the one he requested.

Angrily, she paced back and forth, her heels tapping loudly on the vinyl flooring. "Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded.

Confused, David looked upon the surname of the offending folder, and after exhaling a guilty breath he was silent as his eyes met hers.

"Why didn't you tell me that your ex-wives are all clients of yours?"

Feeling a headache coming on, David rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "Were. They were my clients, Meggie, but that was a long time ago. There are files in that cabinet that are decades old."

Meg felt tears stinging at her eyes. "It's true, then. You were once their agent?"

His bluish gray eyes met her liquid blue ones. "It's true," he said with a sigh.

Fuming, she resisted the urge to slap his face for withholding this vital information, but instead moved quickly to the door.

In a flash, he was at her side, trying to remain calm. "I made a rule, Meggie, after that last divorce. I told you that rule. Do you remember? I vowed never to get involved with my clients. This time, I had a little help breaking that vow."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, with hands on hips, refusing to meet his gaze.

"It's not something that I'm proud of. Michelle was my first client. I was so young then, right out of college. Neither of us had known what we wanted. Then there was Tabbie, who came to me fresh from modeling school, all full of life and full of herself. I knew the first month that we were married that it wouldn't last. And Linda," he sighed. "Nobody ever believes me about Linda."

"What is it?"

"It's so cliché, it's not even funny. One night, I took her out for a celebratory dinner in Vegas after she landed her first contract with Allied Artists Records. We both had too much to drink that night," he admitted shamefully, "and we…"

"Got married," Meg finished for him.

"Unfortunately."

"You're kidding," she remarked, shaking her head.

"We were married by Elvis himself, I'm sad to say, and because I did have feelings for Linda, and already had two divorces, we tried for six months to make it work. Soon, she went her own way, and I went mine."

Her hands dropped from her hips, and as she studied the pained expression on his face, her anger began to subside. She nudged him with her elbow. "You should have told me."

David took her hands in his. "Would it have made a difference?"

"No," she answered quickly, but then faltered, "Yes… maybe. Oh, I don't know, David."

"Listen, Meggie, I like to think that I have learned from my mistakes. This is why I am a little skittish when it comes to weddings."

Meg's gaze wandered to the floor. His hesitation regarding marriage left her to wonder where that left her. Would he ever want to marry again?

"I care for you, Meggie. I lust you like I've never lusted anyone. We have something special, don't you think?"

A smile curved at her lips as she nodded. "I lust you too, David."

He took her into his arms, and squeezed her tightly. "I would be lost without you."

She didn't say it, but he said the exact words that she had been thinking. The jarring noise of the phone ringing soon broke their embrace, and he planted a kiss on her lips.

Giving him a smile, she reached out to the doorknob with one hand, and blew him a kiss with the other. "Back to work."

* * *

"I can't let you go."

Pulling the zipper on her large suitcase, Meg stared down at the man lying beside it on the bed. His bluish gray eyes stared at her with the saddest expression. "What?" she asked incredulously. "David, I have to go. I am the maid of honor!"

"I know," he replied, sitting up, moving her hands from her luggage, and lacing her fingers into his. "I know, Meggie. But, I can't stand for you to be apart from me."

With a smile, she tilted her head understandingly, and sat upon his vacant lap. "I'm going to miss you too, David, but I have to go. Christine is counting on me to be there."

"Listen," he began, his eyes boring into her like a drill. "I am…" he paused for a second, taking a breath, "I am truly," he continued, squeezing her hand with one hand and resting his other hand on her cheek. "Madly, deeply in love with you…"

Shocked, Meg's mouth fell open as she realized that another more mind-blowing, meaningful word had replaced the one she had expected to hear. Squealing, she threw her arms around his neck, and her eyes filled with tears suddenly. Her lips met his with joyous ferocity. "Oh, my God, David."

"Yes, Meggie, I said it, and it's true," he told her as she placed feverish kisses all over his face and neck. "I thought I would never say it again in my life, but I love you."

She looked to him then, biting her lower lip to keep it from quivering. "I love you too, David."

To Meg, David's own eyes appeared very glassy. "You see why now?" he began, then paused to clear the frog in his throat. "I can't let you go to Paris…"

Leaning away from him, she shook her head.

He pulled something from behind his back, and held it up to her. "Without me," he said, revealing an airplane ticket.

"Oh, David!" she squealed again with excitement, clapping her hands together. "I can't believe it! I thought you were too busy."

"I shifted my schedule…"

Hugging him, she placed several more kisses on his lips and all over his face. "I am so happy you're coming with me! Oh, and you'll get to meet my mother and stepfather, and Erik."

David nodded. "The music teacher…"

"Yes, exactly. I still can't believe it!" she exclaimed again, and glanced behind him at the clock on the nightstand. "You have to hurry and pack."

They stood up then, and sneakily David pulled a suitcase from underneath the bed. "I'm all ready to go."

* * *

Meg gazed out the small window at the clouds as she sat in her seat, stroking David's hand contentedly with her thumb. The last time she had flown to Paris, she mused, it had been for her mother's wedding…and sitting in the seat beside her was Ryan. Just seven months prior, Meg would have been content settling down with Ryan and living in England. It was hard to believe that in such a short time so many things had changed. Now living in the United States, she was a performer- an up and coming star, David had promised.

And this time the man she was in love with was madly in love with her.

"So, how about the song?" he asked.

Puzzled, Meg looked at him. "What?"

"You know? My Tears? You started writing the song and never finished it…sound familiar?"

It was very familiar, and off and on for the past few months David had reminded her to work on it so that he could present the finished lyrics to the record company who had expressed an interest in seeing it. She had managed to brush it off.

"David, I have looked at it, honest, but whenever I read the words, I just can't bring myself to work on it."

"Why not?"

Shaking her head, she turned and elbowed him. "When I was writing that song, I was miserable," she recalled. "It was probably one of the lowest moments of my life, and now when I read those words, I just can't make myself feel those emotions. I'm too happy now."

Despite the impending record deal that she seemed to be stalling, and the song that he had a hunch would prove very profitable to her, David couldn't help but feel a sense of joy from her confession. She was happy because of him. And he had never felt happier. For that reason, he decided not to push her to finish the song…for now.

"So," he began, changing the subject. "Did you ever tell your mom that we're living together?"

"No."

"I see. Does she know that we're seeing each other?"

"Yes."

David exhaled with relief. He could not imagine going through the next seven days without being able to touch her purely for appearance's sake.

"So, your stepfather's a private investigator, and your mother works as a choreographer…"

"Right."

"And your former music teacher- Erik, the groom, does he still teach music?"

"No. He is a composer, and is in the process of directing an opera that he wrote. Christine will star in it."

"Okay. So, is Erik the same one you mentioned had amnesia?"

"Yes," Meg replied, but looked to him with serious blue eyes. For some reason, she had never foreseen David coming face to face with Erik. Now that she thought about it, she wished that she had not revealed so much. "But, I wouldn't say anything about it," she warned.

"Why?"

"He's very touchy about his memory loss."

"Again, why?"

"Apparently," she began carefully, trying to decide how best to phrase it, "he doesn't exactly recall how the injury occurred."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and for some _odd_ reason, he might have the idea that **I** had something to do with it," she said, forcing her gaze back to the puffy white clouds outside the small window.

David laughed. "That's ridiculous. Meggie, you are the sweetest, most gentle woman in the world. You wouldn't hurt a fly."

In return, Meg forced a laugh, stopping it as quickly as she started it, and shook her head. "I know, CRAZY, isn't it?" she said nervously, making a circling gesture with her index finger pointed toward her head. "Since he regained his memory, I think that he now remembers things that didn't really happen," Meg told him, a clenching feeling gripping her stomach as she said the words. "You never know what that man will come up with." She turned to face David quickly, and her eyes were desperate. "Do you know Pig Latin?"

* * *

A/N: Next chapter once we arrive in Paris, we will be there for awhile, so please hang in there with me...it's going to get bumpy! Thanks to those who have reviewed, as always, I love you guys and your reviews really inspire me. And as always, I still want to hear what you think :)


	49. Secrets

Secrets

"It seems to be the million dollar question," Erik stated dryly, his long legs stretched out along the sofa.

"So, you really don't remember how your head was injured?"

In frustration, Erik sat up. "No. I REALLY don't know for sure how it happened."

It had been on the forefront of Erik's mind. Ever since Christine had slipped away to visit Meg in the United States, it was all Erik could think about. The very idea was unnerving.

"And I almost lost her," he added. "Again, I almost lost Christine because of it."

"But, she came back."

"Yes, she came back. The funny thing is, since Christine came back she hasn't asked again-not even once." Erik had to wonder what, if anything, Meg had told her. It was extremely uncomfortable for him to talk about and although Erik was eighty percent sure that Meg was responsible for his head injury, he did not feel like he could either blame her or betray her confession from that night so long ago.

"Maybe it doesn't matter to her anymore."

"Maybe it doesn't," Erik agreed, "but it prompted her to leave just days before our wedding," he said, running frustrated fingers through his thick, black locks. It was true; Christine was no longer pressing him for answers, and she returned to his loving arms with a fresh smile and a happy outlook. In fact, for the past couple of days, she had been positively sweet and amorous.

"How does that make you feel?"

Narrowing his eyes, Erik huffed, "Nadir, please don't start."

"Fine." Nadir swiveled his chair around to face Erik, seeing that his patient had become impatient with his tactics. His blackish brown eyes met those deep blue ones of his long-time friend. This was when his investigative instincts kicked in. "So, let us consider how I came to find you that night…"

For some reason since the injury, he had chosen not to discuss the events of that night with Nadir. In fact, Nadir had always encouraged him to look toward the future instead of dwelling on the past.

"I found you prone on the stone floor, the back of your head bleeding."

Erik simply nodded his head at his friend's remark.

"Most everything appeared normal except for some papers strewn about…" His blackish brown eyes were focused upward on nothing in particular as he beckoned his brain to recall the memories of that night. "Candles lit, mask on the ground…"

The formerly masked man's heart began to pound. If Nadir's line of thinking kept heading this way, he may try to make some assumptions of his own. One thing Erik did not want was for Meg to be known to have anything to do with that night.

"Sound familiar yet?" Nadir questioned.

In turn, Erik's lips remained closed, and he shook his head.

Picking up the pen from his desk, Nadir sighed, and tapped on the desk in a quick rhythmic motion. "There was something else…oh, yes!" The tapping came to a halt, and an olive-skinned finger pointed to Erik with the pen. "Meg."

"What…what about her?" Erik asked, keeping his voice calmer than he was feeling.

"Meg found me that night. It was after Joseph Buquet had been dropped from the rafters; I was heading toward Antoinette, and Meg told me that something had happened to you."

"She…she did?" Erik felt his throat begin to tighten.

"Now, the question would be, how did Meg know you were injured? There was a performance taking place, and yet, what was she doing down there in the lair with you? A late music lesson, perhaps?" Nadir asked suspiciously.

"Watch your tone, old man and I resent what you are insinuating," Erik told him with a raised eyebrow. For a moment there, he had been tempted to just reveal what had really happened but then something stopped him. Meg would hate him, he knew, even more than she did that night if he gave away her secret. All of a sudden, an ache began to gnaw at his temples.

"What?" Nadir laughed, his eyes wide in defense. "What exactly am I insinuating?"

Erik's fingers moved quickly to rub the area next between his eyes and his hairline. "I don't know," he snapped, "but I don't like it."

"All I am trying to determine, Erik, is if during the time in question, if Meg was or was not with you?"

"I don't recall," he stated a little too quickly, feeling the ache burn a little harder. "And I don't like all these questions and accusations," he bit out.

"Calm down, Erik. There are no accusa-"

Erik stood up from the couch. "That's all for today."

Nadir dropped the pen onto the desk and sighed as his friend walked out. This session had actually been Erik's idea, and it only now occurred to Nadir that perhaps his friend had not come to him to solve a mystery, but rather just to vent. Of course Nadir could not help but be curious as to how the injury had happened, but it seemed that the only one who knew how to find the answer was Erik.

"Nadir?" Antoinette called out. "Meg's plane will be arriving in forty minutes."

All his previous concern melted away at the appearance of his wife. Her light brown hair was braided and hung down her right side, the tail brushing at her elbow. Also, as the months had passed, Antoinette had given in to a more casual style of clothing, and Nadir found that he liked the way her dark blue silk blouse and accompanying black denims clung to her curves. For the past week, she had been fussing about like an old hen in anticipation of being reunited with her daughter again, and now she had a more youthful appearance about her.

"Yes, my love."

"I can't wait to see Meg!"

As quickly as it had come, Nadir put all thoughts of questioning the young woman aside. It was none of his business, he reasoned, but the investigator inside of him still had to wonder.

Erik drove home, his mind spinning with the foggy vision of Meg screaming at him on the night of Buquets' death- the night that he lost his memory. This mystery had to be solved, somehow, and privately. If tutoring the strong-willed child for over a decade had taught him anything, Erik was sure that Meg had not enlightened Christine about that night. He was a good fifteen minutes from home, and upon picking up his beloved, they would meet Antoinette and Nadir at the airport.

Now, Erik was determined; Meg was going to be staying with them this time, helping Christine with wedding preparations, and that was going to serve Erik's purpose well.

For the sake of his sanity, he needed to have that mystery solved. And somehow or other he was going to learn the truth.

* * *

The man was trouble; she just knew it.

As soon as Antoinette spied the tall man beside her darling Meg at the airport, she could feel all of her muscles begin to tighten. They appeared like a couple of lovebirds as they rode the escalator down to the first level, and Antoinette could see her dear daughter's blue eyes shining as she spotted the party below waiting to greet her.

Meg had assured her that _this David_ would not be accompanying her. In so many words, she had stated that the man was terrified of weddings, no doubt due to his ridiculous number of marriages. Antoinette could feel a burning hot sensation tinge every inch of flesh on her body, threatening to melt every last bone.

Oh, but in her daughter's eyes, he was certainly Mr. Wonderful. David had told her that he would make her famous. He had promised that her song would be heard all over the world, that her face would be recognized by all; she would be loved the world over.

Why, the former ballet mistress wondered, had she not somehow kept Meg from leaving Paris? Why was she continuing to pretend to be so accepting of these monumental changes in her daughter's life? First, Meg had scurried off to London, seemingly to spite her. At least, Antoinette reasoned, Meg had discovered what it was like to be on her own, and had not rushed into a relationship. And there was something about Ryan that Antoinette had felt an innate trust about. It was true that he had broken her dear Meg's heart, but at least he had not whisked her over 5300 miles away…and had not held a string of reckless relationships.

The worst thing seemed to be that Meg really cared for the man; Antoinette could see it written plainly on her daughter's face. He was one year older than Antoinette, and struck by the absurdity of it all, she decided that the art of intimidation might just scare him off. It was, of course, one of her specialties. And, if she could not make him go away, perhaps the former Phantom could…

Meg's jacket hung from her arm while her fingers grasped the straps of a tan carry-on bag, and her companion in turn, was loaded down with four more bags, a pair of them held up by two strong shoulders, and the other two clutched tightly in his hands.

Letting out excited squeals, Meg eagerly gave hugs to her mother, Christine, Nadir, and Erik. She introduced David to the foursome, and her smile soon turned to a frown as she caught the angry glint in her mother's light brown eyes…and that heavy gaze that was directed at her beloved. Meg knew that look, and her insides shook with fear from the realization of it.

It occurred to her then that her mother had not yet spoken one word as David shook hands with the two men, hugged Christine, and then finally turned to the woman who had given birth to her.

"Antoinette," he greeted warmly. "I'm so happy to meet you finally. Meggie's told me so many wonderful things about you," David said, and then looked upon all of them. "She's told me great things about all of you."

Inside she was seething. Three times. He had been married and divorced three times, and now here was her precious Meg feeding him her goodness and falling prey to his deceit like a an innocent lamb to the jaws of a hungry wolf. The only thing he could possibly want was to use her; only he would not dignify her feelings with a proper commitment. Antoinette could see through him as though she had X-Ray vision, and unable to help herself, the words spilled from her mouth, harsh and icy cold.

"What EXACTLY is wrong with you?"

Five pairs of eyes widened in response, and Meg's jaw dropped at her mother's rudeness.

"I…I beg your pardon?" David replied with a small laugh.

"Mama!" Meg hissed, horrified and embarrassed. She knew, though, that despite her mother's sharp tongue, David's experience in show business had made him more than capable of holding his own.

In turn, Antoinette also received a sharp elbow nudge from her husband. "Forgive me, Monsieur," she told David, not quite meeting his eyes. "I am surprised to see you. We were expecting Meg to come alone," she recovered, changing her tone eerily quick from savage to sweet.

With furrowed eyebrows, Meg responded for him. "It was last minute, and I am happy that he is here, Mother," she told her mother through clenched teeth.

"Of course," she smiled tightly.

Nadir put on a smile, quickly moving between mother and daughter, and directing the group along their way to the baggage claim area. The conversation turned to weather and traffic, then very soon to points of interest in Paris, and as soon as everyone was at ease once again, Antoinette snuck over to David's side just as they were exiting the airport doors.

"So, David," she began pleasantly, and smiling as she spoke, "What IS your problem?"

* * *

"I am so sorry! I don't know what has come over her," Meg apologized.

They were stopping first at her mother's house for tea, and then would proceed on to Christine and Erik's estate. Meg had taken the opportunity before the tea had been served to excuse herself and David, giving him a tour of her mother and stepfather's home.

"I never should have told her," she lamented, gesturing with her hand to the bright interior of the guest room for him to enter.

David stepped in, oblivious to the room's decorations, shutting the door behind him. He took this opportunity to take the distraught blond into his arms. "Don't worry," David told her, enveloping the lithe singer with his warmth. "I know how to deal with mothers."

Meg looked up at him hopefully. "Really?"

"Absolutely," he assured. "I've dealt with three mothers-in-law, and I can guarantee you that compared to them, your mother is a lamb."

She felt herself falling into the depths of his bluish gray gaze, and proceeded to plant a long kiss on his lips. "I love you," she told him after finally breaking away from the temptation her body was feeling from the warm contact of his.

"I love you, too, Meggie. And remember, there's nothing to worry about. Everything's going to be just fine."

* * *

Nadir was becoming suspicious. Antoinette had asked for help in the kitchen, but when Christine and he had offered to help, she gestured pointedly to the one who had not offered to help at all…Erik. They had been in there for a couple of minutes, and now Nadir wondered just what it was that his wife was up to. She had been behaving strangely since Meg and David had arrived at the airport. Since he had not a moment alone with his wife, it was hard to tell what was going through her mind. He was already disturbed by the disruptive way she had spoken to David, but since then she had retreated to her normal self, almost overly pleasant. Christine sat with him, chattering on endlessly about the wedding, and Nadir stood, slowly inching his way to the closed kitchen door. Nodding along as Christine spoke, he bent closer to the door, but could only hear bits and pieces of what Erik was saying. Antoinette, on the other hand, must have been whispering.

"Absolutely not!" he heard Erik exclaim.

Smiling to the bride to be, Nadir tried to pretend that he was still listening to Christine and not eavesdropping on a private conversation in the other room.

"Antoinette, I have not done that in years and I'm not going to start now." Erik's voice sounded agitated.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Nadir had to wonder what it was that his wife was requesting of the former phantom. He thought for a second…_torture chambers, Punjab lassos, and all manner of weapons…nah!_

"I have nothing against him," he heard Erik continue, "and obviously Meg cares for him very much. If you are not going to make him comfortable, then surely this will be the last time you see your daughter…"

Erik was right, and no matter what any of their thoughts on Meg's new beau was they were going to have to either accept him or risk pushing Meg away.

It was silent then, except for Christine's incessant chirping, and then he finally heard the sound of his wife's voice.

"Fine!" he heard her say.

Just then, Erik pushed through the door with a silver tray in hand, and nearly slammed into Nadir.

Erik shook his head as he looked to his older friend. Shrugging his shoulders at Erik, he gestured for explanation, but Erik only gestured in the negative with a wave of his hand. At that, he found his fiancée seated comfortably on the couch, and set down a tray of sweet biscuits on the coffee table.

Antoinette had been upset about David, and to tell the truth, Erik was not delighted to see the man either. The formerly masked man had hoped to have the opportunity to speak to his former pupil alone, and find out some much needed information. Now, that seemed unlikely, yet he remained determined. There had to be a way…

Meg and David proceeded back down to the living room, joining Erik, Christine, and Nadir. Antoinette was still in the kitchen, and Meg was tempted to join her in the kitchen to tell her exactly how she was feeling, but as her best friend went on excitedly about the ceremony, the flowers, and the centerpieces, Meg was reminded that this was not the time for confrontations. Pasting a smile to her face, she and David took a seat beside Christine.

Antoinette joined the group with a tray of cups in hand, and set them on the coffee table. Inwardly, she frowned at the unwelcome presence of the man in Meg's life, but her exterior showed nothing to indicate it. She headed back to the kitchen and brought out a teapot and began to pour the steaming liquid into the cups.

From the time they had arrived at the airport, Christine had known instantly that her surrogate mother would not approve of David, and never more than now did she regret letting it slip that Meg was living with him. She had begged Antoinette not to give away her secret, and though the woman had been horrified at the news, Christine felt that David being there was only going to make things that much worse. The brunette tried to diffuse the uncomfortable situation by chatting about the wedding, but she could feel the tension running high in the room. Once they left and settled David and Meg back at her and Erik's home, things would be much better. Christine was sure of it.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so it begins...and as I mentioned before we will be in Paris for a while, so please stay tuned, unless you've lost interest, but I hope not because there's more to come! Thanks, as always, to my readers and reviewers, and of course, as always, I love to hear from you!


	50. What Happens in Paris

A/N: My fiftieth chapter- yipee! Even though this is a continuation and almost its own story, I thank you for sticking with me! Now read...

What Happens in Paris…

"I can see why you fell for him," David told Meg as they were unpacking and settling into one of the larger guest rooms at Christine and Erik's estate.

Distracted by thoughts of her mother's behavior that night, Meg hung her clothes in the closet, looking back at him absently. "Huh?"

"Erik. He's a handsome guy."

With a smirk, she moved to David and encircled his waist with her hands. "Are you jealous?"

He looked down into her sweet face, raising an eyebrow. "Should I be?"

Meg laughed. "No." She continued to hang their clothes on hangers. "That was a long time ago," she assured him. "And besides, Erik looks very different from the way he used to look. He used to be… self conscious about the way he looked."

"So, he's had some work done?"

"You could say that," Meg agreed, happy that David was not aware of how dramatic Erik's changes had been. "Call it an amnesia transition."

"I noticed downstairs that he had a collection of work and a CD composed by a "Derek Windsor"."

"Yes, Derek is his pseudonym."

"For a man as creative as he, a composer, no less, you'd think he could come up with something better."

"Oh, if it were up to you, you'd probably just drop his last name, and then he would just be..." Meg drew her fingers upward into quotations. "Derek."

David narrowed his gaze at the lovely blond. "Very funny."

* * *

Erik lay beside Christine in bed, his brows furrowed tightly. Every minute that passed, he was more aware of the proximity of Meg, more eager to find out the mystery behind his head injury. And every minute that passed, Erik became more agitated that Meg had brought her lover with her, a most unwelcome visitor in his mind.

Christine fluffed the pillow, and burrowed into the blankets beside him; the angst from the day had drained her. Happy to see her best friend again, Christine was now worried that Antoinette would betray how she had accidentally told of how Meg and David were living together.

"What do you think of David?" Erik asked his fiancée with a tone of bitterness.

A smile curved at her lips. "I like him. He treats Meg really well, and you can see that he really cares for her."

"You don't think he's too old for her?"

Christine laughed, "Only if you think that you're too old for me."

Inwardly Erik growled. He did not hate him as Antoinette had, but Erik did not like him either. And, he was becoming very irked that Christine had found genuinely likable traits about the man.

_Maybe, he would consider Antoinette's idea to dispatch him…_

Erik was quickly ripped from that thought as his lovable brunette snuggled up to him.

"Just think, Erik," she said dreamily. "In six days, we will be married, and I will be Christine Windsor."

He began to feel the ice melt from his heart and smiled. For years, he had dreamed of it, and in less than a week it would become a reality. Erik had decided to put his composition away and resolved to begin again once the production of "Don Juan Triumphant" was over. It was one of Christine's gripes, he knew, and after all the tension from the week before, and wondering if there would still be a wedding, he now felt some peace to have the woman he loved beside him. Now, Meg's boyfriend was here and stirring up a new kind of angst with Antoinette, prompting unthinkable thoughts in the woman's mind. Now, if they could just get through the next six days…

The Next Morning

"I see what you mean," Meg whispered to Christine as Daphne headed back to the kitchen. Since they arrived, this was the first time she had seen the maid, and now judging by the short bouncy black skirt, frilly white apron, and plunging neckline of her outfit, Meg could see exactly why Christine had been so disturbed. Of course Meg also had to wonder if she could find an outfit like that for herself…

"Thank you," Christine replied, happy for the acknowledgment. She took a sip of her coffee and poked at her pancakes with her fork.

"Didn't you talk to Erik about it?" Meg asked, nibbling on a piece of toast.

"No. I was ashamed for running away the way I did, and I figured that in less than a week I will have every right to correct her…" she searched for the right word, "uniform." In truth, Christine had no idea how to even broach that subject with the younger woman. "Did you sleep well?"

There were telltale bags under her eyes, but Meg had forced herself to rise early. Christine had since informed her of dress fittings. "I did, and I'm letting David sleep." She looked to Christine uncertainly. "Do you think it'll be all right to leave David here alone with Erik?"

Christine's mouth was full, but she nodded. "Absolutely," she told Meg, swallowing the last bit of her pancakes.

"Where is Erik anyway?"

"He's sleeping. He did a lot of tossing and turning last night. I don't think he slept very well."

Meg popped the last small piece of toast into her mouth and stood. "Do you think they'll miss us?" she asked.

"No," Christine said, rising. "I doubt they'll even know we're gone."

* * *

David showered and dressed, then made his way downstairs through the seemingly empty house. The tempting aroma of coffee lured him and he followed his nose to the kitchen. To his delight, he found a scantily clad blonde in costume standing at the sink scrubbing dishes. His feet were suddenly planted to the floor as he watched her; she was humming to herself as her delicate fingers scrubbed at a plate. Then, to David's surprise, she leaned over and placed the dish in the dishwasher, revealing more of her shapely legs, and a curvy, frilly bottom.

_Naughty girl…_

* * *

The dress shop…

"It fits perfectly," Meg told her, admiring the satin and chiffon of the midnight blue colored dress that Christine had chosen for her. The sweetheart neckline flattered the blond's ample bust, and the empire waist complimented her lithe figure. She also liked the way the delicate chiffon felt against her skin as its asymmetrical hemline swayed just below her knees.

"Thanks to Daphne," Christine commented. "Apparently you and our maid are the same size."

Meg looked to her with surprise, still glancing at her reflection in the mirror. "I'll be sure to thank her myself. Now that I have my dress, let's see 'it'."

Christine led Meg to the larger dressing area. With the assistance of the shopkeeper, she removed the dress from the hanger, and as Meg's blue eyes fell upon the layers and layers of satin, tulle, beads, and embroidery, she turned to Christine. "Put it on."

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen…

For a moment David just stood there in admiration of the sight before him. The image of her was too tempting and he had to wonder how she had gathered up the nerve to play dress up for him here in her friend's home. Yes, it was daring, even for his Meggie. First, he stepped backward and out of the kitchen to be sure that no one was within sight, and then with a sneaky smile, he tiptoed up to the woman at the sink, already fantasizing about their adventures ahead.

As he stepped closer, David could see small earphones in her ears, which was even better that she could not hear him, he thought as he snuck up from behind, indulging in all the racy thoughts running through his mind. Apparently she had gone through a lot of trouble for him, he could see. Her hair was put back in a ponytail, blond curls bouncing playfully with her every movement, and she wore black fishnet stockings and two-inch heels.

_Very naughty…_

David stepped toward her, noticing that although faint, the perfume was different than any Meg had ever worn before, and he found that he liked it. He leaned his chest up against her back, and plucked the ear bud from her ear, his body even more thrilled than it was before.

She froze, and he smiled as he whispered in her ear, "Me likey. Me likey very much."

At that moment, the blond turned her face to him and screamed. Taken aback, David's eyes widened as he realized that this face was, although similar, not the face that belonged to Meg. The woman's screaming was piercing his eardrums, and before he could recoil and apologize, she threw a hard jab with her elbow backward into his gut. Aghast, David felt his legs drift backward, and tried to catch his breath while recovering from the blow she had just delivered.

Erik heard screaming and rushed to the kitchen. The water was still running, and Daphne was covering her cleavage with soapy hands as one earbud dangled off her shoulder. Then there was David looking like he had the wind knocked out of him, gripping his abdomen with both hands.

The man of the house tried to make sense of the sight before him, his deep blue eyes darting back and forth between the sight of his disturbed maid and his very unwelcome visitor. His voice emerged, loud and demanding, "What is going on here?"

* * *

_Dress shop revisited…_

"And I can't believe she's behaving this way," Meg complained. "She doesn't even know David."

It was silent, and Meg finally noticed the length of time that had passed since her friend had disappeared into the changing room.

"Christine, are you all right in there? Do you need any help?" Meg offered.

"No," Christine's small voice replied, as she slipped her head and torso very carefully through tulle and crinoline.

"Anyhow, I only told her that we were dating, and yet she's acting like…like…."

"Like you're living together?" Christine's muffled voice sounded out, and then covered her mouth when she realized what she had said, still fussing with one arm to find a sleeve.

"Exactly!"

Finally slipping her other arm through, Christine settled the huge gown into place. She was glad for the moment that Meg could not see her guilty expression. "Why don't you just tell her, Meg?"

"Are you kidding?" Meg cried out. "She'd be even more lunatic than she is now!"

"I don't know," Christine replied, smoothing out the heavy fabric around her waist. "Maybe she just wants to know the truth."

"If my mother knew that I was living with him and that he doesn't want to get married, then she would probably do whatever she could to get rid of him."

"You think so?"

To Meg, it already appeared that way. "I know so."

"Does he ever want to remarry?" Christine asked. It was something that she had always wondered but given the number of times the man had been married and divorced, she had never had the nerve to ask.

At this point, Meg really had to wonder. "I don't know. We don't talk about it, Christine. We love each other. David and I are happy."

The door from the changing room flew open then, and Christine appeared, gripping folds of satin and tulle in her fingers to walk, and trying to make her way to the large three-way mirror.

Meg gasped as her friend stepped up onto the carpeted pedestal. With a shoulder neckline, her gown was white with pearls and crystal beads adorning the satin bodice, and from the waist emerged a full tulle ball gown skirt. She looked like a princess, Meg thought; a beautiful, glowing princess.

Christine watched as her friend looked at her with no words, happy to have her friend's approval.

"You look…beautiful," Meg told her finally, moving toward her and pulling the long embroidered train to extend it to its full length. At that moment, Meg felt very envious of her friend. There was something about a wedding dress that made the occasion more real. Christine and Erik were in love and were going to be married. Meg was very happy for her, but also a little wistful. Inside she could not help wondering if she would ever be able to celebrate that joy with David.

Glancing on the clock at the wall, Christine gasped. "Look at the time. We have to get back before the boys miss us."

Meg was becoming a little teary eyed at the sight of her best friend. "All right," she nodded. "There's a uniform shop right next door, right?"

Christine nodded.

"Let's make one more stop."

_

* * *

Kitchen revisited…._

"MONSIEUR!" Daphne screeched with her heavy accent, pointing a finger to David. "This man…he TOUCHED me!"

"I'm sorry," David told the maid regretfully and then turned to Erik. "I only saw her from the back. I thought she was Meg."

The former phantom suppressed a smile. He could see the innocence of David's error, but still wasn't so sure that he should let him get away with it that easily. Raising an eyebrow, he simply stared at David and then shifted his gaze to the maid as she turned to shut off the running water.

"Are you all right, Daphne?" Erik asked calmly.

"Oui," she replied, moving her hand back to cover the exposed flesh of her cleavage. "Excuse me," she said in tears, bounding out of the kitchen, heels clicking with her exit.

David's head spun as his mind tried to grip what had actually just happened. "You have to believe me," he told Erik. "Meggie never told me that you had a maid who looked so much like her…"

"I see," Erik replied with disdain. "Don't let it happen again."

The ladies entered then through the front door, Meg holding a garment bag, and Christine bearing a large gift box. The two women were giggling but stopped as they noticed the serious looks on the men's faces.

"What's wrong?" Christine asked, looking from her fiancée to the man beside him.

Both jaws dropped as David offered his explanation, and with heavy garment in hand, Meg stormed off to her room. Christine said nothing at first, and only looked at Erik expectantly.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well, what?" he countered.

"Aren't you going to talk to her?"

"No. Daphne's fine."

"Where is she?" Christine demanded.

Erik only shrugged his shoulders, not understanding why Christine was suddenly getting so irritated.

With a frustrated sigh, Christine headed out the front door to the servant's quarters.

Clutching the box in her hand, Christine rapped on the door. Daphne opened up, her lovely features smeared with mascara and eyeliner.

"Oui, Mademoiselle," she greeted, wiping her tears, and trying to clean up her appearance.

"Are you all right, Daphne?" Christine asked, her face and tone showing her concern.

Daphne sniffled. "Oui."

Christine knew of Daphne's former prostitution background, and wondered if the maid had taken David's advance as a reminder of her unpleasant past. "I…" she began, but was not quite sure what to say. "I have something for you." She held out the box.

The maid's face immediately brightened. "For me?" she asked with a smile.

With a nod, Christine stepped inside as Daphne accepted the box from her and moved to her own modest living room.

Watching Daphne unwrap the box, Christine bit her lip in apprehension, but Meg had convinced her it was the right thing to do.

Daphne lifted the top and in awe looked down at the outfit folded neatly inside.

She emitted a squeal as she lifted it up and held it up against her body. It was a longer, more modest maid outfit- a knee length black dress that could button up to the neck, with lace accented three quarter sleeves and collar, and a lace edged white apron that tied around the waist.

With a happy smile, Daphne embraced Christine. "Thank you, Mademoiselle. Thank you!"

To be continued…

* * *

A/N: I know, why did I have to leave it right here? This seemed like a good place to stop for now...Stay tuned for more, thanks as always to my reviewers, and please I beg of you, review! :)


	51. Hot Water

Hot Water

With a satisfied smile, Christine entered the house once again, both happy and relieved that the maid had accepted the new uniform so graciously. She found the two men standing in the same place she had just left them only minutes ago, and her smile immediately turned to a frown as she faced her fiancée.

Erik thought that as soon as he had seen his soon to be wifey smiling that everything was back to normal, but to his dismay she now faced him with a scowl.

"Is everything all right with Daphne?" he inquired, hoping that his concern would earn him points - although for what reason he was not sure.

Christine scrunched up her small nose. "No thanks to _you_!" she hissed. She avoided David's gaze altogether, realizing that it had been a case of mistaken identity, but it irritated her to no end how insensitive Erik was behaving toward his maid's feelings. Turning on her heels, she faced away from the pair with nose turned upward and headed toward the stairs.

"But, Christine…" Erik began uselessly with just a hint of a whine, wondering what he could possibly say to smooth out whatever she was upset about.

She stopped and raised a palm toward him. "Bup bup!"

That was that, he realized, and awkwardly he and David stood side by side. David looked to Erik, feeling incredibly stupid and guilty.

"I'm really sorry, Erik," he told him, actually standing the same height as Meg's former music teacher.

"It was an accident," Erik replied stiffly.

Silence.

Erik turned to David then. "So, are you going to talk to…?" The former phantom gestured toward the staircase.

"I don't think it's a good … No," David responded, shaking his head.

Silence.

David spoke again, "So are _you_ going to…?" he asked, now gesturing toward the staircase.

Erik shook his head in return. "No…no…not yet."

* * *

Christine knocked on the door to the guest room. She could faintly hear her friend's voice inviting her inside. As she stepped in she found Meg seated on a chaise lounge, her face covered by her hands.

"Are you all right, Meg?"

The blond sniffled. "It was a mistake bringing him."

Quickly she took a seat at Meg's side and embraced her. "No, it's fine, Meg. It was an honest mistake and Daphne's all right."

Christine was right, Meg knew, but her emotions were running on high ever since she had seen Christine in that wedding dress. Now she felt like the tears would come at the drop of a hat. And, to make things worse, her period was almost two weeks late; the absence of it weighed heavily on her mind.

"And," Christine continued with a smile, "your plan worked. Daphne loves the new uniform! I think that we have David to thank for that!"

Meg wiped away her tears and giggled. "You're right. I don't know why I'm so emotional lately. Maybe it's because of Mama…" As much as she wanted to share her fear of being pregnant with Christine, she refused. This wedding was important to her, and Meg did not want to spoil or take away from it.

"Things will be fine with Mama, Meg. You'll see. I bet she regrets acting that way the other night, and she'll be perfectly normal."

"Do you really believe that?" Meg asked.

Christine frowned. "No, but it sounded good," she said with a sigh. "I suppose we ought to get ready then. In a couple of hours we have a bridal shower to attend."

Suddenly Meg was filled with dread. Her mother was throwing this bridal shower for Christine, and the last thing she wanted was to face the woman. Then, with a final sniffle, Meg sat up straight and smiled to her best friend. This party, this wedding, this week was all about her, and she had no right to bring Christine down. "You're right, Christine. Everything will be fine."

* * *

An hour later…

"But, I don't want to go," Erik complained as he sat on the edge of their bed, his hands holding tightly to the edge of the mattress.

Christine stood at her mirror, putting on a pearl earring. "You're going."

"Christine, I said that I'm sorry for whatever it is that I did. Why are you punishing me by making me attend this "woman's" party?"

Rolling her eyes, she picked up the matching earring and inserted it into the pierced hole in her other ear. "I'm not punishing you, and Nadir will be there. Besides, you don't even know what you were apologizing for, Erik. I was upset because you didn't care about Daphne's feelings."

"I asked her if she was all right and she said, "oui." That, to me, tells me that she was all right," he replied impatiently.

"You brought a prostitute here to work for you, Erik, and then after several months of being treated like a human, she was suddenly reminded of how it felt to be a piece of meat again. How do you think that made her feel?"

He had a sheepish look on his face and he shrugged his shoulders. "David told her he was sorry."

"True," Christine agreed, "but you still should have shown more concern."

In spite of his cluelessness, Erik smiled at the reflection of the woman in the mirror. She was still breathtakingly beautiful with her shining brown eyes and lustrous locks, and even when she furrowed her brows in annoyance at him, he still could not help but be charmed by her.

He stood with a small smile and approached her from behind. His arms encircled her tiny waist and lovingly he planted a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Christine raised a suspicious eyebrow, but as his soft lips met the smoothness of her cheek, she still found it difficult to be angry with him. "What was that for?"

"I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you," he told Christine, snuggling her closer to him. "How lucky we- Daphne, and Rosa, and I are to have you."

With a smile, she squeezed his arms with her hands, and planted a kiss on his cheek. "No, I'm the one who is lucky."

They both stood there for a moment simply enjoying each other's embrace, now rocking back and forth until Christine finally broke the silence.

"Erik?"

"Hmmm?"

"You're still going."

"Awwwww."

* * *

"Meg, listen…" David began after finally gathering the courage to enter the room. She was at the mirror applying mascara, and did nothing to acknowledge his presence. "About Daphne…"

Meg turned to him then with a flash of fire in her liquid blue eyes. "Later. Right now we have to go to Christine's bridal shower."

David looked like he had been punched in the stomach...again. "We?" he laughed suddenly. "Why do **I **have to go? Your mother hates me."

The blond emitted a loud, impatient sigh, not really feeling like engaging in an argument. "She will hate you even more if you don't go," she told him matter-of-factly.

"I don't think it's a good idea, Meggie."

"It'll be fine," she insisted. "I think that by now, Mother has had enough time to warm up to the idea of you."

With a doubtful look, he faced the idea that he had no other choice. "But, it's a "woman's" party…" he tried feebly.

She shot him a mean glare. "You're going."

"But, it will be boring."

"You touched another woman's ass."

"Fine. I'll go."

* * *

Erik had been waiting all day to find a moment to intercept Meg, and now as Christine bustled about the house, getting ready to leave, and David was nowhere to be seen, the former phantom took this opportunity to steal a minute with Meg in the kitchen. After checking to make sure that there were no prying ears, he caught up to her as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Meg? How are you?"

She gave him an embarrassed smile. "Hello, Erik. Listen, I'm sorry about this whole David and Daphne thing..."

Shaking his head, he continued, "Don't worry about it anymore. There's something I've been meaning to..."

He didn't get the chance to finish his sentence as Christine and David entered the kitchen at the same time.

"Ready?" Christine asked brightly, looking from Meg to Erik to David.

Meg gave her a cheerful smile. "I'm ready!" she told her, mustering up as much positive energy as she possibly could.

The two men, on the other hand, wore identical expressions of dread, but Christine expected no less. "Let's go!"

* * *

Meg felt guilty for misjudging her mother. From the time David entered their home, her mother had embraced him with a sweet smile and did everything she could to make him feel welcome. David and Erik had retreated to the back patio to join the only other man present- Nadir.

The party went well, and though there were just a handful of women there, including Daphne, Rosa, and a couple of ballet rats that Christine and Meg had been friends with at the Opera Populaire, the women enjoyed the festivities. Christine completely relished her role as the bride-to-be, and as the room alighted with giggles, games, and gifts, Meg felt even more envious and more tearful.

Once the party was over and the guests were gone, Meg and Christine helped Antoinette take down the decorations and do the dishes. Meg was relieved about her mother's change of heart, and felt like once every last piece of wrapping and crumb of cake was cleaned up, she could finally relax. The three women sat in the living room, sipping tea and chatting when Antoinette rose.

"I think it's time we allow the men to join us," she said simply.

"See?" Christine told Meg once Antoinette left the room. "I told you things would be fine."

Meg nodded, but somewhere in the pit of her stomach she had a very bad feeling.

The men joined them, each male taking the seat next to his partner, and Antoinette smiled pleasantly to David.

"I'm so happy that you could be here with us today, David."

David smiled, doing his best to hide his amazement. "Thank you, Antoinette. I'm very happy to be here."

"You'll have to forgive me for the other night," she told him sincerely. "I am very protective of my Meg."

In turn, David laughed. "Of course, as well you should be…" he added.

"I got to thinking," she continued, "I'm older now and settled, and I really like the idea of my daughter settled down."

Meg's eyes darted to David's, and they both were wondering exactly what she was getting at.

"Well, I think that Meggie is going to go far with her career…" he began.

"Yes," Antoinette interrupted, "there's always time for the career, but you're only young once."

"Mother? What are you talking about?"

Puzzled, Christine, Erik, and Nadir simply watched the exchange, looking back and forth from Antoinette to Meg as though they were watching a tennis match.

"I think it's wonderful that you and David are so serious about each other…"

"Serious?" Meg asked.

"Well, you're living together now. Right, Christine?" she asked, looking to Christine for confirmation.

Christine's eyes widened and her hand quickly covered her face.

Meg's gaze met the back of Christine's hand, confirming for Meg that a secret had been betrayed, and as she tried to maintain her composure, she stuttered her reply. "Yyy…eees…I…I…ww…wa…"

Taking her hand in his, David came to Meg's rescue. "We're taking it slow, but I can guarantee you this, Antoinette, I love your daughter very much."

Antoinette smiled and her hands covered her heart in a grand gesture. "I'm sure you love her very much, and this is why you can't afford to waste time," she told him wagging a finger at him. "I want grandbabies: At least seven of them, four girls and three boys."

Nadir looked at his wife in surprise.

David gulped.

Erik watched in extreme amusement. This was better than reality television.

"Mother!" Meg said, annoyed, her eyes darting back to Christine, her so-called friend, though would not meet her gaze.

"Rushing is never a good thing," David said.

"Well, you cannot afford to wait, right, David? You are already in your forties. You don't want to be seventy years old and carrying a newborn!"

The blond didn't know what to say. "Mother!"

"Listen to your mother, Meg. Do not wait until your body is too tired. You need to give me grandbabies now." Antoinette smiled to her husband beside her. He looked shocked and horrified by her overbearing remarks. "We're ready," she said nodding and taking Nadir's hand in hers.

"The thing is, Antoinette, I'm not very good with children," David confessed.

"And we're _not_ ready," Meg added, resenting the pressure her mother was putting on them.

"Nonsense," she replied, waving a delicate hand. "Before he becomes a father, every man thinks this way until he holds his darling baby in his arms for the first time."

"To tell the truth, I don't even like children," David blurted out, gaining the surprised attention of the other five in the room.

Meg was the most surprised, and at that revelation, she felt tears prickling at her eyes like hungry needles. "You…don't?"

David looked to her regretfully then and shook his head. "No. I never have."

It came to her then that all of his clients were adults, and in the past he had made jokes about children, but she never thought it was anything serious. All of a sudden, Meg felt bile rise to her throat and sprinted from the room.

David and Christine rose in concern, but somehow neither could bring themselves to comfort Meg.

Antoinette inwardly smiled. Her plan, so far, was working.

* * *

A/N: And so it begins...any predictions? Either way I'd love to hear from you!


	52. Owwww

A/N: Let me first say thanks to such an overwhelming (and great) response from you for the last chapter. You people are wonderful! Also, I need to address my apologies to BHC and Timeflies- I've been crazy busy with essays and my final last week and am now between Christmas shopping and life trying to catch my breath- and I haven't been able to get to your stories. I haven't been able to read or write and am extremely behind. Normally, I like to stay 2-3 chapters ahead of you for continuity purposes (and for my own sanity),but what the heck...Maybe after posting next week's, I'll just take a break...Hope you enjoy!

**Owwww...**

All eyes were on Antoinette as she returned to the living room. Christine was ashamed of herself; first, for betraying her best friend's secret about living with her agent, and second, for not confessing to Meg that she had. And David felt bad that the truth of his attitude toward children had come out this way- here before her mother and everyone who cared about her. It was certainly not his intention. As a result, Meg had left the group in tears, and her mother had been the only one to go check on her.

"She is upset," Antoinette announced, "but Meg will be fine."

Christine rose; the guilt was eating her inside. "I'll go talk to her."

Antoinette lifted a stern hand. "Meg does not want to talk right now. You all should go. Meg will stay here with me…for now."

With a regretful sigh, David rose to join Erik and Christine. It had been an uncomfortable situation for them all, and now he could not even meet the eyes of Meg's mother. He certainly had suspicions regarding her affectations. More than ready to leave, Christine gave a hug to her surrogate mother, thanking her for hosting her bridal shower, and the trio bade their goodbyes and departed.

When it was only the two left, Nadir looked to his wife wordlessly, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

The former ballet mistress returned a defensive stance. "What?"

He spoke then, but his tone was uncharacteristically tight. "You know exactly what."

With that, Nadir exited the room, leaving Antoinette to her thoughts.

* * *

Back at home, Erik led David into the music room after the agent had expressed his interest in Erik's compositions. David's eyes wandered the large room, the grand piano, and the other instruments displayed on the wall. Although the piano had been the centerpiece, there was so much to see- the shiny brass of a saxophone and a horn, the polished wood of a violin, the bright colors of the art pieces lining the walls, and oddly, his attention was drawn back to a rather unsightly statue of a monkey sitting atop the grand piano. Standing about eight inches tall, the peculiar primate wore a red vest as it sat at its own bench with its long appendages touching the keys of a smaller piano.

"Do you play?" Erik asked as he noticed David's gaze directed toward his favorite instrument, unaware of the man's distasteful expression.

"Not the piano, but I've always had a respect for it," David told him, his bluish gray eyes fixed on the figure of the primate. "Hey, that's a monkey," he pointed out, wondering what on earth this trinket- or whatever the heck it was- was doing in such an elegant room.

With a smirk, Erik replied, "Nothing gets past you."

"If you'll forgive my saying so, Erik, it just seems out of place here in this room."

Erik lifted the monkey statue protectively as though to shield its ears from such nonsense.

"It is a music box and a gift."

"Oh. I see…" David replied awkwardly. "Nice…"

* * *

Antoinette knocked on the door to the guest room, hoping that this time she could somehow get her daughter to speak to her.

"Meg? Everything will be all right. You'll see."

Silence.

"I've sent them home," she said helpfully, knowing that it was for the best. "You are welcome to stay as long as you want."

Silence.

"Meg?" Upon her continued silence, she decided it best to leave her be. "I'm going to make some tea now. If you need me…"

The door opened then, but just a crack, and Antoinette could see the puffiness of one side of her daughter's face, and the tinted redness of one blue eye.

"How could you?" Meg bit out.

"I…I…"

"Don't you see that I know what you are trying to do? I know you're trying to break us up."

"Meg," she began calmly, hoping that her daughter would listen to her years of experience. "A man like David _doesn't _settle down. He goes through life collecting women. When he's finished with one…"

Meg interrupted then, her voice icy cold. "You don't know _anything_ about David…"

"Apparently, my dear, you don't know much either."

Antoinette knew as soon as the words came out that no matter how true they were she should not have said them. That feeling was validated by her daughter's appalled expression and by the force of the door that slammed in her face.

* * *

Weather, news, politics, sports- the two men groped for some common ground. After all, they shared none of the same interests. At David's request, Erik played one of his compositions, and the talent scout complimented him on both an exquisite performance and amazing natural talent, nevertheless, the two were still at a loss for conversation.

Erik rose from the bench, shutting the lid to the piano.

"So," David began, dipping his hand into his pocket to reach for his wallet , "do you have an agent?"

"No."

"Do you want one?"

"No."

* * *

"She's crazy! I don't know what's wrong with her!" Meg proclaimed, looking toward the olive-skinned man on her right as he drove.

Nadir sighed, "Yes, I really wonder sometimes what is going through her mind." He had known Antoinette for years and had lived with her as man and wife for nearly six months. Even still, it was difficult for even him to deal with her unpredictability.

"Grandbabies! She said she wants grandbabies!" Meg ranted, wondering how soon her mother may indeed be getting one.

Quietly, he kept his eyes focused on the open road, allowing his stepdaughter to vent.

To Nadir, it appeared that since she and David had shown up things had been chaotic, due mostly to the fault of his wife.

"She only wants what is best for you, Meg," Nadir told her in a comforting tone, trying himself to believe his words.

Meg shook her head. "Mother doesn't know what's best for me."

Nadir maneuvered the car into the grand driveway of Erik's estate, admiring as he always did the perfectly manicured shrubs, roses, and the profusion of flowers and trees.

"Would you like me to walk you in?" he asked as he pulled up in front of the house.

She shook her head again and gave him a smile. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Nadir," she told him, reaching over and hugging her stepfather. Meg was happy there was one sane person in her family.

She watched as he drove away, sighing now as she realized that she had to face the truth of David's words, and in the deepest part of her soul she wished that it wasn't true.

* * *

"You're a very lucky man," David told Erik, browsing the walls of the music room. They had broached every thinkable subject, only to desert each for another. Somehow, David could not understand how Meg had been so attracted to someone so uptight. "Christine is a wonderful girl."

Erik sat at his piano, absently flipping through pages of his opera. "Indeed."

"She and Meg are good friends."

"The best."

Silence.

"Do you and Christine plan on having children, Erik?" David asked uncomfortably.

The former phantom looked up at him with a surprised expression. "We haven't talked about it too much, but yes, I suppose someday…"

Silence.

David made his way back toward Erik, looking at him sheepishly. "Do you think that Meg hates me?"

"Hate is a very strong word, but then again, Meg is a very passionate girl."

The agent's bluish gray eyes widened in surprise at Erik's unexpected admission. "She mentioned that you tutored her…"

"Right," Erik laughed. "You have to watch out for that temper of hers."

"Temper?" David questioned. In the months they had been together, he had witnessed nothing out of the ordinary. For the most part Meg had been one of the gentlest souls he had ever come in contact with. At that point, he recalled what Meg had told him on the plane ride…how Erik remembered things that had not truly happened.

"Watch out for it," Erik warned again with a smile, almost giddy with anticipation. Surely this man at some point would earn the wrath of the blond's temper, and Erik hoped that it would be sooner rather than later…

It was then that they heard someone at the front door…

* * *

With bloodshot eyes, Christine met her friend at the front entrance. "Meg! You're back. I'm so happy that you came back…" she told Meg, throwing her arms around her in a tight embrace.

Meg stood there in the foyer with her arms at her side, very irritated with her best friend. "You told my mother that David and I were living together?"

Christine's brown eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Meg. It was an accident…"

"An accident?"

"When I came back, I was telling Mama about where you lived and how beautiful it was, and she wondered how you could afford such a home, and I…I…" Christine's voice faded as she said the words, "It slipped out."

Meg breathed a heavy sigh. "All right," she said in her most rational voice. "I can accept that it was an accident, and that you didn't mean to tell her, but why didn't you tell me that she knew? I was totally unprepared!"

Christine covered her face with her hand. "I know. I just didn't know how to tell you, and I knew you would be angry…and…oh, Meg, I'm so sorry!" she said again, throwing herself into Meg's embrace piteously.

Try as she might to maintain her ire, upset as she was with Christine for her little blunder, Meg felt her anger toward the younger woman dissipate. In turn, her arms wrapped tightly around the brunette. "I could never stay mad at you, Christine," she said with a sigh. Meg pulled away finally, happy now that this misunderstanding had been cleared up. Besides, she had bigger fish to fry. "Now, where's David?"

* * *

Meg refused to meet his eyes as they entered the guest room, and the more she thought about his admission just hours ago, the more her blood boiled. He entered behind her and shut the door. To occupy herself, she straightened the abundance of pillows and cushions on the bed to her liking, and proceeded to the silver tray on top of the dresser, lining up the various lotions, perfume, cologne, and jewelry in nice, neat rows.

David was quiet, not knowing exactly where to begin. He stood in front of the door, instinct warning him to be as close to the exit as possible…

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she asked calmly, her gaze still focused on the toiletries.

He could not read her expression, and wondered how upset she really was. With a sigh, he replied, "I don't know, Meggie. We're busy. Between auditions, rehearsals, meetings, the subject didn't seem relevant. It's like the weather- it's there, but you don't really think about it."

She turned to him then, fire in her blue eyes. "You're comparing children to the weather?"

David shrugged. "We have a lot going on right now in your career…"

"Yes, I know, David, but let me ask you something," Meg began. "Do you think that you will ever like kids? Ever want them?" she asked, wondering if there wasn't a tiny life growing inside her at that very moment.

"Truthfully?" he asked.

Her whole body was filled with dread at what he might say, but she knew she had to be strong. "Truthfully."

"I doubt it."

Meg shook her head incredulously. _I doubt it_. He said it as simply as though questioned about something as insignificant as eating Thai food again. The words echoed furiously in her ears, and in turn, she could feel the ferocity of her heart pumping in her chest.

"Well," she began icily. "I'm very sorry you feel that way. But, you might not have a choice."

David laughed, but it was a puzzled laugh. "Why do you think that is?" She was angry now, visibly angry as she reached for a cushion from the bed and hugged it tightly to her chest.

"I might be pregnant," she told him calmly, her fingers twisting the edges of the cushion.

To Meg's dismay, her agent laughed once again.

"Very unlikely," he said with a smile, and shaking his head. "In fact, it would probably take an act of God."

The fact of the matter, Meg knew, was that there had been times when they had not been so careful. Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. "Why? My monthly visitor is nearly two weeks late…"

"As I recall, Meggie, your "monthly visitor" has not been regular since you moved in with me," he told her matter-of-factly.

Oh, she wanted to hit him. Badly.

"Why…" she asked as the words worked their way out through her teeth, "…do you doubt it, David? Is it because you just don't want me to be pregnant?"

He let out a sigh. "It would be unfortunate, Meggie, because if you are pregnant, then it would not be my child…"

She advanced on him then, holding the cushion over him threateningly. "That's ridiculous…" she spat, taken aback by such a hurtful insinuation.

David reached out to her, lowering her arms from her attacking position. "What I mean is that there is no way I could be the father."

Meg began a full on attack, striking him repeatedly with the cushion. "You… already… said… that!" she said, tears filling her eyes. "How could you think…"

"Meggie," he implored, trying to avoid the oncoming blows from the cushion, "I am incapable of impregnating you."

Her arms retreated for a moment, and she wrinkled her eyebrows in confusion. "Why?"

"I had a vasectomy."

Meg's jaw dropped once again at his admission. "It's not true. It can't be true," she cried out, feeling like the room was spinning around her.

He looked at her sorrowfully. "I'm afraid so."

She shook her head, unwilling to believe the reality of it. "They are not 100% effective."

"Not at first they aren't, but after twenty years, I'm pretty sure there's not much of a chance…"

Tears began to fall from her eyes, and she resumed attacking him with the cushion. "Twenty years?"

He held his arms out again to block her blows, trying to explain. "When Linda and I got married, the one thing we both agreed on very strongly was that neither of us wanted children," he confessed softly.

She stopped then and looked at him, her heart sinking all the way to her feet. There was one thing she needed to know. "You're older now, David…what about…"

He cut her off, "I never regretted it."

Turning from him, the tears fell freely, and sobs racked strong and hard through her body.

Hating to see her this way, he approached her and put his hands on her shoulders. At his touch she moved away from him, reaching for cushion after cushion and hitting him with perfect aim.

"I can't believe," she began speaking again, sobs breaking her words, "you... didn't... tell me! All this time, David, you let me think...and, you knew I wanted children…"

"You don't want children now. Just think, Meggie," he begged, trying to rationalize with the understandably angry blond, at the same time dodging cushions. "You can go as far as you want in your career, and you never have to worry about diapers, or nannies, or …vomit."

Meg ran out of cushions and pillows. "Someday, David. I want children someday," she told him, realizing now that it was probably just her unpredictable cycle preventing her monthly visitor. "And I want the choice to have them…or if that's not possible…to adopt."

He looked down and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Meggie."

In anger she reached behind her, grabbing the first thing her fingers touched, and gripping the perfume bottle tightly in her hand, she held it back with the poise of a baseball pitcher. "I hate you, David, for deceiving me. I hate you for not telling me sooner!"

"Meggie, please…" he said, gesturing for her to calm down.

"I hate you, David, for making me fall in love with you!" she screamed, taking aim, and as he cringed and turned toward the door, she flung the bottle at his head in a furious rage.

"Son of a…" His fingers flew to the sore spot on top of his head, checking for blood, and his mouth fell open wide in disbelief at her action. He turned to her then, noting the somewhat regretful look on the blond's face. "Owww!"

* * *

A/N: Okay, surely you've got something to say about this one! Good or bad, I'm waiting to hear it... :)


	53. The Games We Play

**The Games We Play**

Once again, Meg's temper had gotten the best of her.

Meg immediately regretted her action, but was still furious about David's confession…and that he had waited this long to share it with her.

"I'm sorry," she said brusquely, snatching the perfume bottle from the carpeted floor and stowing it in the pocket of a jacket hanging from a hook beside the door. Next, she made her way to her agent and inspected his wound. Fortunately, and with some relief, Meg found that it was not an open wound, though her fingers could feel a small bump covered by a mass of his dark brown hair.

David looked at her very strangely for a split second, as though he did not know this woman at all. "I'm fine," he told her, shoving her hand away.

At that very moment, nature hollered out to Meg in the ugliest of ways, prompting the blonde to sprint from the room. She had not even needed to visually verify mother nature's proof there before her. David's words were true- there was no baby growing inside her, and though this would have been the worst possible timing for her had she been with child, she felt wretched to learn that what could have been now would never be. The very thought of it made her sick to her stomach. Now, there was an ugly ache in her heart that nibbled away at her like a piranha.

Meg returned to the room afterward to find David sitting quietly on the bed.

"You were right," she told him bitterly. "I'm not pregnant."

Rubbing the sore spot on his head with his fingers, he nodded as he observed the sorrowful look on her face. "Meggie," he sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"_Why_ didn't you?" she asked quietly, sitting beside him on the bed.

"I was afraid. I wanted you all for myself, and hoped that in time you…that you…"

"What? I would change my mind? I would eventually stop wanting children?" she asked in an incredulous tone.

He lowered his gaze to the floor. "It was selfish, I know…"

Meg breathed a sigh and lifted his gaze to meet hers. "The thing is, David, that I don't know if…"

A knock at the door interrupted her, and for the moment David, whose heart was in his throat, was happy for the distraction. Erik's voice, on the other hand, sounded uncharacteristically chipper as he spoke.

"It's game time!"

Meg was quick to speak up. "Erik, right now is not the best time," she replied, not bothering to go to the door.

"Nonsense!" he called out on the other side of the door. "It's always a good time for games."

Shaking her head, she rose and headed towards his voice with David trailing behind her.

"Maybe later."

David cut in front of her and opened the door to find Erik smiling at the both of them.

"Meggie, I think that right now is the perfect time," David told her cheerfully, and wrapping her body into his with his arm.

"Good," Erik said, rubbing his hands together. "I'm going to get things ready downstairs. Don't be long!" In a flash, he was gone.

Shooting a glare at David, she decided to go along with it. Erik's idea of playing games seemed very odd to her as it did not suit his otherwise uptight personality, but she was a guest in his house, and right now this diversion might be the boost she needed. Of course, she longed to tell Christine of all that had come to light in the past few minutes, but two things stopped her: This was supposed to be a happy occasion, and she needed some time to reflect before burdening anyone else with David's revelation.

"Fine," she told David as they headed out the door. "But, DON'T mention your head."

* * *

With David's new bump and thoughts of babies temporarily brushed aside, the trio sat in the large living area, watching as the man of the house stood before them beside a large easel covered with blank paper.

"Are we going to play charades?" Christine asked, delighted by her fiancée's idea. The mood in the house had become uneasy and discomfort seemed to be written across each inhabitant's face. Erik's idea was certainly strange, she thought, but something fun and lighthearted might remedy the tension.

"Maybe later," Erik replied. Frustrated by his foiled attempts at getting an answer from Meg, he hoped this might be just the way to wrangle a confession from the blonde.

"I was thinking that for this game, we could pair up…"

Christine raised her hand excitedly, "Oooh ooooh! I want to be on Meg's team!"

Meg nodded with a smile, reaching across David's lap and taking Christine's hand in hers.

"I think it would be better," Erik began, trying to steer the game in the proper direction, "if you and David are a team, and Meg and I will pair up."

"Why?" both women echoed.

"Because…" Erik began, willing any reasonable answer to come to him, "you and Meg… have already had a lot of time together…and…"

Christine nodded, "and this will give David and me a chance to get to know each other better."

"Exactly!" Erik agreed.

In turn, she clapped her hands like a little girl, bouncing her small bottom up and down on the sofa cushion. "I love games!"

Shrugging her shoulders, Meg rose and gestured for David to switch seats with her so that Christine was beside David and Meg was beside Erik.

"Okay, we have our teams, now what do we do?" David inquired, turning to face the lovely brunette with a smile.

"We're going to play word association," Erik informed the trio. "David and I will give you ladies clues to what we are thinking… and if you guess the word or words correctly, you earn a point for our team, and write it up here on the board," he directed, drawing a line down the middle of the sheet on the easel, and labeling one side with Erik/Meg, and the other with Christine/David.

"And then Christine and I go? Who goes first?" Meg asked, turning away from the opposing team.

Erik could not risk revealing his quest for Meg's confession. He took the seat beside Meg, hoping that his plan would work. "First David and I will begin at the count of three," he told them, pulling a stopwatch from his pocket, "and then we will have two minutes to convey as many word or words to you ladies. When you have guessed correctly, we will put a tally mark on our side of the board."

"But, how do we know you're not cheating?" David asked, turning to face Erik.

The former phantom was growing impatient with all these questions. "Because we DON'T cheat," he told him tersely, glaring at the other man. With an indignant toss of his head, he cleared his throat and faced his teammate. "Can we please begin?"

David faced Christine once again, finding an alarmed look in her large brown eyes, now slightly fearful of what would happen if the group did not participate.

"Let's play," Christine challenged, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

"One…" Erik counted as set the time on the stopwatch. "Two…three…"

Erik took a deep breath and looked into the liquid blue of his former student's eyes. This would be over quickly, and upon having his answer he could finally get on with his life. Blocking out the murmur of David and Christine's voices behind him, he concentrated on the woman before him.

For Erik, there was only one word. In fact, he could have kicked himself for not thinking of this sooner. Finally, he would get his answer, and everybody else in the house would be none the wiser. He gave a smile and let the word roll off his tongue, "Amnesia."

Meg blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "Forgetfulness."

"No," Erik said, trying to steer her from that train of thought. "Memory loss," he said, his blue eyes boring into hers expectantly.

Again, the first thing she could think of slipped from her lips, "Remembory."

Erik slapped his hand to his forehead. "Remembory is not a word!"

"Remember?"

Erik shook his head again.

"Recall?"

"No."

"Uh…uh," Meg stammered, "The act of not being able to recall…uh…not being able to remember…not remembering…" she continued, fearing that with Erik as her teammate that she had definitely gotten the raw end of the deal.

The two were momentarily distracted by the motion of David marking tally mark after tally mark. Obviously, he and Christine were in sync as all he had to do was say a word or two and his partner promptly emitted the correct response.

"Try something else," Meg urged.

With a sigh, he looked to the blond. "Fine. Crush."

"Smash."

Shaking his head again, Erik tried again, "Obsession."

Meg knit her brows together, now completely confused by his line of thinking. "Giorgio!"

Erik's face fell into his hands, frustrated. "Time's up!"

He ignored the cries of the group's protest, burst from the couch, and proceeded into the kitchen. Daphne greeted him with a smile as she did the dishes, glowing in her respectable new uniform. Erik could not focus on anything at that moment but pouring himself a stiff drink. The liquid did not flow from the bottle fast enough, and the burning of the vodka did not soothe his rising temper as quickly as he would have liked. Nevertheless, he could not give up. It occurred to him then that Meg could not possibly know what he was asking of her and with that understanding he returned to the living room.

"Meg, a moment, please?" he requested.

Meg looked up at him miserably, wishing she could switch teams.

The winning pair was chanting, "Let's play. Let's play. Let's play!"

His deep blue eyes beckoned the blond. "We won't be long," he said, gesturing for her to join him.

Reluctantly, she followed him into the grand foyer.

"I'm begging you, Meg. I need to know what happened."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, confused, and wondering if he had heard the ruckus of her and David's argument.

"The night I lost my memory," he whispered as his eyes pleaded with hers. "I need to know how my head got hur…"

Christine emerged, cutting off Erik's query. "Time's up! Let's get back to the game."

With wide blue eyes, Meg stared back at him. This whole time Erik had been trying to get her attention, she realized. Nearly two years after his head injury he wanted to know the truth of how it happened that night. A lump formed in her throat and she tried to blink back the tears of shame that were pricking her eyes. Her heart was thumping loudly in her ears and grateful for her best friend's intrusion she followed Erik and Christine back to the living room.

They all took their seats and David and Christine resumed their chanting.

With a sigh, Erik looked to Meg, who wore a very guilty expression, and then he looked back to the other pair. "I think that it's time for a new game…"

Out came more cries of protest, except from Meg who sat as quiet as a mouse.

"But," Christine raised her voice, "Meg and I haven't had a turn yet."

"Yeah," David joined in, "and we were winning!"

"New game!" Erik proclaimed, his voice boomed throughout the room, unsettling each player.

"All right," Christine agreed, trying to calm him down. She had to wonder what had gotten into her fiancée. Leaning close to David, she whispered, "We'll win at this game too."

Her hushed tone did not escape Erik's ears. "We're not going to play teams this time."

Facing Erik, the three listened as he explained the next game. Meg was struggling to pay attention, consumed by her former music teacher's question, wondering herself if the admission of the truth would free itself from her lips. She had kept it a secret for so long…

"Are we ready?" Erik asked, his eyes focused solely on a very distracted Meg and not even noticing that David and Christine were all fired up and ready. "Meg?"

Christine looked to her friend, finding her pale all of a sudden. "Meg? Are you all right?"

The former ballerina nodded, wishing instead that she had the courage to leave this game and retreat to the bedroom. Though he had not been her music teacher for ages, Meg still felt he had a grip on her. "How do we play again?"

Christine took Meg's hand in hers. "Erik is going to draw a picture, and we have to guess what he is drawing."

Meg nodded once again, feeling Erik's eyes on her. It was then that she realized it: This was not a game, and Erik was not doing this for the sake of fun. It now made sense to her; he wanted answers and she suspected he would not stop until he got them. "Ready."

Erik took the pencil and skillfully formed the figure of a person. Christine and David began to randomly call out their guesses- everything from man to names of famous men. Meg, however, remained quiet. Quickly he sketched, and now it appeared to be the profile of a man with dark hair. The man held one hand up to his head.

The guessing continued, and Erik continued to sketch. Still Meg remained silent.

"Man posing?" guessed Christine.

"Gay man?" guessed David.

Observing the sketch, Christine tilted her head thoughtfully. "Man with a headache?"

Erik stopped, pointing to Christine that she was onto something and then eyed Meg, who still spoke not a word. His pencil resumed across from where the man stood, and he drew another figure. Purposely he did not indicate whether this figure was male or female, but simply drew the person with one leg on the ground and the other knee raised up. The figure's drawn up hands was bracing something, although the object had not been drawn. He then drew a line pointing from the hand all the way across the sheet to the other man figure.

"Baseball pitcher!"

"Tossing the bouquet!"

David turned to Christine then. "You mean "pitching" the bouquet?" he added, observing the stance of the figure drawn.

Christine looked back at him and nudged him with her elbow.

Erik then drew an arrow to the empty space in the pitcher's hands, and then began to draw several arrows in a desperate attempt to coax an answer from the still silent Meg.

"Baseball?"

"Rice?"

"Football?"

"Bouquet?"

Everybody looked at Christine, and she shrunk down in her seat self-consciously. "Not the bouquet. Uh…uh…yarn?"

David snorted. "Perfume?"

With a furious expression, Meg reached behind Christine and pinched David's leg, and he withdrew in pain, scooting further from her. Oblivious to the waves of nausea that were roaring furiously through Meg's body, Christine and David's guessing continued.

"Money?"

"Frisbee?"

"Pillow?"

Again, Meg glared at the man, but it seemed to have gone unnoticed.

The guessing continued, though most of the guesses were nonsensical and only served to make one another giggle.

Erik shook his head, running out of ideas, and drew long arrows beginning from the empty space in the one figure's hand all the way to the head of the other figure. Furiously he rapped on the sheet with his pencil, nearly ready to explode in anger.

"Monkey."

The former opera ghost turned to Meg then. She had not said it as a question, but as a fact, and while the other two players continued to guess, Erik's gaze met the tears in Meg's eyes.

"Monkey?" he asked softly.

She nodded then, tears blurring her vision. "I'm sorry," she whispered to him, wiping away guilty tears.

All at once, Erik felt the release from the tension that had settled at his temples and freedom from the ache in his soul.

"Monkey?" David questioned, "That's crazy!"

"Eggs," Christine still called out, not even noticing the exchange that had taken place between Meg and Erik.

"Rocks," David guessed, but then stood up all of a sudden, commanding everyone's attention. "No, no. I've got it! Water balloons."

Erik looked from David to Meg and then to Christine, and back to David with a smile. "Water balloon," he said softly. "We have a winner."

"Oh, thank God!" David exclaimed.

"I'm going next," Christine announced, springing from the couch, and freeing Erik's hand of the pencil.

"Why don't we take a break?" Erik suggested, mentally exhausted from the ordeal of game play. What had actually only been minutes had felt like hours.

Reluctantly she agreed, finding Meg and David still sitting far apart from each other on the sofa. She had definitely sensed something was not right between the couple. "I think we're just going to check on the menu for dinner tonight," she told the pair. It did not matter, though, for neither lifted their eyes to her in acknowledgement.

David was lost in thought and finally turned to Meg. "Monkey. You said 'monkey'. That's funny."

"What so funny about monkey?"

"Erik has a weird statue of one in his music room sitting on top of his grand piano."

"That's right. It's an antique music box that I gave him."

"You gave it to him?" he asked, puzzled, willing the bits and pieces of information to somehow connect. She had nodded her reply, and all at once, David's jaw dropped open in surprise. Pointing to the drawing on the easel, David spoke again, "Erik was drawing a picture of someone hitting someone else with something. And you said monkey. It almost seemed like he didn't know what it was until you said it." David covered his mouth in alarm. "Oh, Meggie, you didn't hit _him_ with the monkey, did you?"

Meg's blue eyes became wide as saucers. "Why do you say that?"

"He warned me about you. Erik said that you had a temper. You used to be in love with him at one point…" he said, voicing his thoughts, even though, spoken, it sounded like a jumbled mess. "And you hit _me_ on the head with a perfume bottle…"

"Shhh!" Meg told him, looking around to make sure no one else was listening. It was bad enough that Erik now knew the truth, and Meg was too ashamed to admit it to Christine, and certainly did not want to have to such a personal matter drifting to the ears of one of Erik's servants. "About that, David…I really didn't mean to hit you. I am sorry."

David scooted up close to the sad blond. This trip to Paris had felt like an emotional rollercoaster. "I forgive you for hitting me," he told her and took her hand in his. "Now, can you forgive me?"

Meg felt tears begin to well up in her eyes. "I don't know," she answered truthfully.

The talent scout swallowed back the lump in his throat. "Are we going to be okay, Meggie?"

Flashes of wedding dresses, and of Nadir walking her down the aisle flooded her mind like a raging river. She tried to push the pictures in her head away, but as she did, sweet images of a swollen belly and holding a baby in her arms overpowered them. Shaken once again by thoughts of what would never be tore at Meg with painful claws. She looked to David then, sniffling and sobbing as the words spilled from her lips. "I don't think things will ever be okay with us again."

* * *

A/N: As most of you may have guessed already (and have predicted from the beginning), David was not the right one for our Meg. Before you hit me with "Well, what did you put us through all this, then?" Well, I can only say that I never said that Meg's road to love would be easy. Seldom does anyone ever get it right the first time, but in my stories, at least, one thing really does lead to another, and I can assure you that I do have a happy ending for Meg planned out already, and no, it won't take me another 20 chapters to get there. So, thanks for bearing with me, and please hang in there while I work things out for her...and of course, review! And of course, have a very MERRY CHRISTMAS!


	54. Honesty is the Best Policy

**Honesty is the Best Policy**

Meg sat beside the large picture window overlooking Erik and Christine's circular driveway, staring out for what seemed like hours. Holding a cup of tea in her hands, Christine felt an ache in her own heart for her friend. Now, David was gone, having packed up and left just hours before, and with only days left until her wedding, Christine set the cup down in front of Meg, gently placing it on a coffee table. The once bright blue of her friend's eyes were now tinged with red, the emotions in them swirling about like stormy waters. She took the seat beside her and placed her hand on Meg's.

Meg looked to Christine, grateful for her presence. She was glad not to have to face such an emotional time alone. "I'm sorry," she told her suddenly.

Christine knitted her brows. "You have nothing to be sorry…"

"I didn't mean for all this to happen, Christine. You're going to be getting married and I'm spoiling it for you."

Here, Meg had learned that the man she was in love with could not have nor did not want children, and after their abrupt break up, what she was worried about was spoiling the mood for the upcoming nuptials. "You are not spoiling anything. Here, drink some tea," Christine offered, lifting the cup to give to her.

She accepted the cup gratefully and took a sip, trying to push away the gnawing at her heart. "I suppose that now Mother will be very happy that her plan worked and that David is gone."

"Meg, I'm sure she meant well."

"It was none of her business, Christine. Maybe she was right, but she had no right to butt into my life."

"She loves you."

Meg had nothing to say to that and turned her face away, watching as a gentle breeze tugged at the elegant roses in the garden outside. For a long moment she was quiet before turning to her friend's sympathetic brown eyes. "If I had been honest with her from the beginning, she may not have reacted the way she had to him. If I had been honest with myself, I would have realized that I've always known that things wouldn't work out with David."

"Why do you say that?"

"I hadn't even gotten over Ryan when I rushed into a relationship with David. But, instead, I lied to myself that despite our differences- our age, our goals, our future, what we wanted were so different, that I tried to convince myself that it was meant to be. I guess I've been telling a lot of lies, Christine- to myself, to Mama, to you."

Confused, Christine stared at her friend. "What are you talking about?"

"I've decided that from now on, I'm going to be honest with everybody about everything, Christine. And I'm going to start with you," Meg told her, setting the cup back on the dainty saucer on the coffee table. "Please don't hate me…Well, here goes: I used to be in love with Erik- or I thought that I was." She paused to see Christine's already large brown eyes widen.

"You mean recently?"

"No, before the accident," Meg corrected. _The accident._ Ugh. "I had been taking music lessons from him for years and at some point was convinced that I was in love with him."

"Oh, Meg. I had no idea you felt that way for him. Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"I kept my feelings to myself, Christine because Erik had made his feelings about you very clear, and I was very resentful because of it."

Christine found her mind reeling at this revelation. Somehow after all the years of knowing this woman she had never suspected it.

"There's more," she continued. "On the night of Joseph Buquet's death, I told Erik of my feelings for him. When he told me that he didn't feel the same, I told him that you could never care for him and that you were out on the rooftop with Raoul…"

The brunette's mouth fell open with a loud gasp. "Meg!"

"Oh, it gets worse. After trying to convince him that we should run away together, he only turned away from me, feeling very sorry for me, and I lost my temper and started throwing things."

Erik had emerged from the foyer at that moment and peeked in to find the two women talking. In alarm, he caught only the last few words of what the blonde was saying and stood quietly, peeking around the corner.

Trying to convince herself that her friend was already in a lot of pain, Christine tried to hold onto her composure. She would not let herself feel anger right now toward Meg. "I'm sure you must have felt very hurt…"

"I hit him on the head with the monkey music box, the antique that I gave to him the same night I told him my real feelings, Christine," she told her bluntly, her blue eyes filling with tears again. "I tried so hard to keep it a secret. I was never going to tell you or Erik what really happened that night."

"Meg, I don't understand…"

"It was my fault. I caused his amnesia," she confessed, "and Erik probably kept it from you because he didn't want to betray my feelings. But, Christine, I need you to understand that I am so, so sorry. I've never regretted anything more in my life, and while I didn't suffer as much as he did, I deal with what I did everyday."

Christine's eyes had filled with tears, and speechless, she rose. Filled with anger, confusion, and hurt, she could not speak. Instead, she simply began to back away.

"Christine?" Meg reached out to her as she backed away. "No, please don't go…"

Tears ran down Christine's cheeks. "I have to… go check on Daphne," she told her, but Meg could see her best friend as she headed not for the kitchen, but up the stairs, wiping her tears with her hand.

Shocked by what had just taken place, Erik watched as his future wife headed in the direction of their room, and turned his attention back to his other former pupil, who was now openly weeping. He entered the front room and took the seat where Christine was seated looking in the direction of his future wife. "Christine will be all right."

Meg looked up in shock now finding his deep blue eyes filled with sympathy. "Will _you _forgive me?"

Erik smiled. "Of course. I like to think that behind all that pain and mystery of those eighteen months that I actually emerged a better person."

Nodding, she smiled back. "I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you, Erik. I should've told you a long time ago."

"It's all right. That was in the past," he told her dismissively, hoping to drop this very uncomfortable subject. So much had come to light in the last few hours; he had finally learned the mystery behind his head injury and the man that Meg had brought was now gone. After all was said and done, Erik could see what Christine was talking about. David had seemed to really love Meg, and appeared to be a decent man. Now, that the reality had set in, Erik felt a little bad for all the evil tortures he had been secretly conjuring in his mind. Of course, the man had shattered Meg's dreams of having a family, and Erik couldn't help feeling responsible for beginning a chain of heartache for the talented singer. "I'm sorry about what happened with David."

Meg laughed. "You didn't even like him. You are not sorry!" she said, elbowing him lightly.

"I am…a little," Erik confessed. Poor Meg, he thought. She had not had very good luck with men. "Is there anything I can do?" he offered.

By the earnest look on his face, she could see that his offer was heartfelt, and even though she still felt the urge to break into sobs again, she willed herself to use her emotions more constructively. "I have a song, Erik. And I think that you are just the one to help me with it."

* * *

They had been in there for hours.

Working through her pain, Meg had a new light in her eyes as she sat with Erik at the piano, working with melodies and rhythms. She couldn't think of a more perfect place to compose, reveling in the familiarity of the lair's replica. It had been some time since she and Erik had worked together, and Meg had not even realized until now how much she had missed it. Her former tutor gently offered suggestions, his expert fingers always plinking at the ivory keys. And it was surprising to Meg that after all the years as a rather domineering teacher, he had mellowed into more of a musical colleague. Even before Meg's first song, "My Tears", was finished and polished, her fertile mind began spinning new lyrics. The second song she called "Life Without You", and with its upbeat rhythm it quickly took on a life of its own, seemingly almost writing itself. Halfway through their third song, "No Looking Back", Erik stopped to take a break. His stomach was now used to regular meals, and the growling noises it was making was very distracting.

"Meg, aren't you hungry?"

Meg shook her head, her own fingers plinking at notes experimentally. She picked up her pencil then, and began to scribble feverishly on a sheet of music. "No. Go ahead."

Erik turned to leave the music room and paused for a moment. The way that the blonde was positioned at the piano, humming and singing reminded him of himself, he mused. At one point in his life, he had been able to compose for days at a time without coming out, but that had been a very different time. There was something about music that was very therapeutic…Wondering how long Meg would hold up, he opened the door to leave and found Christine sitting on the floor on the other side.

"Christine…"

She had been sitting there quietly and looked up at him. "Meg has an amazing talent," she told him.

"Have you been listening?"

Christine nodded. "Yes. I'm jealous. I don't think I could write like that. Those songs- they're so meaningful and I just know that they will have an effect on people. They had an effect on me."

"Listen, Christine, try not to be angry at Meg…"

"I guess I'm not the one who really should be," she told him.

Erik knelt down to meet his fiancée at eye level. "I wasn't completely honest with you, Christine. I suspected that Meg had something to do with it a long time ago, but never knew for sure. I didn't tell you because…"

"I know why you didn't tell me," Christine replied. "You didn't want to give away her secret. When Meg and I were growing up, we used to tell each other everything. She never lied or kept anything from me before."

"Our music lessons was something that the two of you had in common, yet both of you kept it a secret," Erik pointed out.

"We felt we had to…at least I did," Christine added.

"Meg said she was sorry and I believe her," Erik told the brunette sincerely, taking her hand in his.

Upon, hearing the beauty of Meg's voice ringing out from the other side of the door. "I believe her too."

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for the overwhelming support on the last chapter! I am so lucky to have such understanding readers! :) The truth comes out as we expected it would and we are progressing towards the wedding. Thanks again for your reviews and support and hang in there with me! And as always, please review!


	55. The Night Before

_A/N: A Saturday post- how odd! For some reason, I didn't want to wait too long before posting this one. Thanks again, as always, to my faithful readers- old and new- for sticking by me._

**The Night Before**

Meg's resolve had wavered over the next few days, her heart telling her to contact David, but whenever she felt that irritating urge, she reached quickly for her notebook. The notebook filled quickly with lyrics and poems. After a few more sessions with Erik, and also now help from Christine, she had written five more songs.

The rehearsal dinner was that night, and more than anything Meg was dreading facing her mother. Since Christine and Erik were getting married the next day, arrangements had been made for both Christine and Meg to stay with Antoinette, and Nadir, in turn, would stay at Erik's house that night as well. Counting the minutes until it was over, Meg could not wait to steal Christine away so that they could enjoy a night on the town to celebrate the younger woman's last night as a bachelorette.

Once the small group had been seated and toasted to their nuptials, Antoinette took the opportunity to get her daughter's attention. Meg, who was seated far down the other side of the table, had been avoiding her mother's gaze. It wasn't hard for Antoinette to guess the reason why.

She rose and tapped her daughter on the shoulder. "Meg, can I speak to you?"

Meg's blue eyes turned cold, but she rose and followed her mother into another room. She did not say a word and decided to wait to hear what she had to say.

"Meg, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am…"

"For what, Mother?" Meg snapped. "For butting in, or for chasing David away? You were successful, I'm sure you've heard. You must be very proud," she told her, her sweet voice dripping venom with each syllable.

Antoinette's features fell into a frown. This had been a hard week for her as well, and she was fully aware that she had been the cause of Meg's grief. "I am very sorry, Meg…for both. And no, I'm not proud of the way I acted."

The blonde looked at her mother in surprise. She had certainly not expected an apology- at least not a sincere one.

"I thought I knew what was best for you," Antoinette continued tearfully, "and I did what I did because I didn't want to see you hurt…" She paused as she saw her daughter's gaze meet the floor. "But," she began again, lifting Meg's chin with her fingers, "I can see you're hurting right now…very much."

Meg's blue eyes began to fill with tears as she read the sorrowful expression in her mother's face.

"I'm so very sorry, Meg. I don't want you to run back to California and never speak to me again," Antoinette said, unable to keep her lips from quivering. "The first time you left Paris, I felt like the most important part of me had left, and I can't bear you leaving again hating me."

For as long as she lived, Meg could not ever remember seeing her mother cry, and now as tears escaped the shiny brown of the formidable former ballet mistress's eyes, she felt her own heart breaking. Her mother had been wrong for doing what she did in chasing David away, but as much as Meg hated to admit it, Antoinette had been right about him. Tears fell freely now from Meg's eyes and, unable to help herself, she embraced the woman who had given her birth. "Oh, Mama!" she sobbed, "I could never hate you. I want to hate you, but I can't. I love you too much."

The two women sobbed in each other's arms for a brief moment, and then Meg pulled away, sniffling. "Now we have to get back to dinner."

"Right," Antoinette agreed, also sniffling. "So, you forgive me?"

"On two conditions," Meg replied with a smile, wiping at the corners of her eyes.

"What?"

"Since I am a grown woman, you have to butt out of my business."

"Done."

"And you don't get to say that you were right about David."

Antoinette looked very concerned. "For how long?"

"Mother!" Meg stated exasperatedly. "Forever!" she told her with hands on hips.

A slow smile curved at the older woman's lips. "I can live with that."

* * *

"You've certainly come a long way, my friend," Nadir said, his blackish brown eyes now glassy and meeting his friend's deep blue ones.

After the rehearsal dinner was over, the group had parted ways, and while Meg and Christine went off on their own, Nadir had decided to bring Erik to the club that he had brought him to once nearly two years before.

"Haven't I?" Erik smiled, sipping at some vodka.

"I should say so," Nadir agreed. "No more threats of murder…"

Erik cut in, "That you know of…"

The Iranian shook his head and chuckled. "No more Hawaiian shirts…or thongs…"

"I still wear those, I'll have you know," Erik laughed. "Christine rather likes them."

Nadir mock covered his ears with his hands. "If you speak any more about thongs and you wearing them, I will throw up in my drink."

"Fine," the former phantom replied lightheartedly, gazing at the surroundings. Everything appeared the same as he remembered. The music was loud, there were too many people, and behind the bartender were several bottles lined up of every type of alcohol imaginable. A thought occurred to him all of a sudden. "Do you remember how Carlotta tried to pick me up that night?"

Setting down his drink, Nadir laughed. "Oh, now that was something I will never forget."

"You knew who she was? WHY did you let me go with her?"

There was only an amused smile on the olive-skinned man's lips. "Because it was funny… and sooo very ironic."

"Nadir!"

"Oh, come now, Erik. After everything you put me through, I deserved a bit of amusement."

Erik furrowed his brows at his friend with an uncertain expression. "Touché," he replied, lifting his drink to his lips once more. After a long swallow, he looked to his friend thoughtfully. "In one more day, Christine and I will engage in wedded bliss just as you and Antoinette."

"Hmmmph."

"Pardon me?" Erik said with one raised eyebrow. "Am I to understand that all is not well in paradise? What of all those grandbabies?"

Nadir turned his face away. "As a matter of fact, Antoinette and I are not speaking."

"Why not?"

"The other day I had it out with her after I dropped Meg off at your house. I told Antoinette that what she was doing with Meg and David was none of her business, and that all she was doing was causing trouble. And she had the nerve to tell me that if Meg was smart she would listen to her, as though Antoinette had done nothing wrong! I told her that she was just going to chase Meg away again, except this time for Meg there would be no forgiveness."

"Nor any grandbabies," Erik offered.

"Exactly! And so, I've been occupying the very uncomfortable bed in the guest room," he told him, rubbing his lower back.

"I'm sorry to hear that, old man," he told him, taking another sip of his drink.

"The thing is, Erik, is that Antoinette is very intuitive. She was right, just as she has been about a lot of things. Before you became a couple, she predicted that you and Christine would marry. She even knew back when Meg was a young girl that she was going to fall in love with you."

Erik's mouthful of vodka nearly came out of his nose. Dabbing at his mouth with a napkin and holding back a cough, he looked to the older man with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Though she says very little, she knows very much. Knowing her daughter as well as she did, she guessed the relation to that hideous music box Meg gave you and your head injury…"

"I don't know what you're…"

"And of course, after thinking about it, I told her what I suspected, later on telling her that Meg found me at the opera that night, knowing you were hurt, and telling me where to find you… and Antoinette put two and two together. We couldn't be sure, but that's what we think."

Erik cleared his throat, uncomfortable at his friend's investigative findings. "Um, yes, well, that was a long time ago…" He took another long swallow. "So what are you going to do about Antoinette?"

Nadir stiffened. "I don't know," he said sourly.

"It appeared that the two made their peace already," Erik told him, wanting very much to keep the conversation away from himself and his past.

"Yes, well…"

Shaking his head, Erik looked at his friend in amusement as Nadir crossed his arms stubbornly. "You can't stay mad at her now…"

Turning up his chin, Nadir kept his gaze focused away from Erik. "Maybe I can. I'm telling you, Erik. The woman can be downright unreasonable, and I think that she owes me an apology."

"You? She owes you an apology?"

"She said some things…some hurtful things…"

"Be a man, for God's sake! Brush it off!" Erik urged him.

"I can't this time."

Erik looked to the olive-skinned man beside him, wondering if those were actually tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "Nadir, tomorrow I am marrying the woman of my dreams, and if you do anything to jeopardize my wedding night, so help me, I will kill you in your sleep."

Blinking, Nadir turned to him finally, raising an eyebrow at Erik. "Don't you mean wedding DAY?"

At this, the former opera ghost only gave him a sly smile. "That too."

* * *

Christine and Meg sat at a small round wooden table in the corner of another club way across town. Meg had been unusually quiet, and Christine was having difficulty gauging her friend's mood.

The bride-to-be took a sip of her drink, fingering the hourglass shape of her glass. "And so, I told Daphne that I didn't want her to lift a finger tomorrow. I made sure that she has a dress to wear, and she will be attending the wedding like any other guest, same as Rosa, our cook. I really care about them both."

"Uh huh," Meg replied distractedly, barely removing her lips from the straw of her own fruity drink.

Christine raised an eyebrow. "And I decided that instead of wearing my wedding dress, I'm just going to tippie toe down the aisle in the nude."

"Uh huh."

With a sigh, Christine narrowed her eyes at her best friend. "Meg! Didn't you hear what I just said?"

Meg finally focused her eyes on her exasperated friend's face. "You said something about Daphne being nude…" After hearing the words that had emerged from her lips she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Christine."

"What's wrong, Meg? I thought you would be happy now that you and Mama are speaking again."

"I am…but, I'm not thinking about Mama right now."

"Oh," the younger woman replied. She could see the pain in her friend's eyes. Apparently, the recent breakup with David was taking its toll on her. Meg's creamy skin had lost its glow, she was constantly on the verge of tears, and she carried a yellow legal pad with her wherever she went. "So, have you thought of what you're going to do?"

Meg took a long sip of her drink. "At my request, David has already found me another apartment, and is having my things moved out of his house as we speak."

"You don't have to rush back," Christine told her quickly. "Erik and I will be gone on our honeymoon for two weeks, but you are more than welcome to stay in Paris in our house for as long as you want."

The blonde gave her friend a smile. "I have to get back, Christine, although I do appreciate your offer. For months, David has been after me to get my song finished, and now that I have, I think I'm ready to move on with my career. Only, this time there will be no holding me back. I'm not the scared girl that I was six months ago."

Christine took Meg's hand in her own and squeezed it tightly. This time was another one of the many times that she admired her friend's strength. Erik had been Christine's backbone and she did not know how she could exist without him. "You are so brave," she told her, leaning in beside her, and lacing her arm into hers. Christine laid her head on Meg's shoulder. "Maybe one day…"

"Hello."

The two women looked up in surprise at the sound of the very familiar male voice. He stood there with a smirk as he found the two beauties sitting together in a near embrace.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked.

His golden hair was slightly shorter than Christine remembered, sitting neatly below his ears and those brown eyes that she fondly remembered twinkled in amusement. Straightening herself in her seat, Christine adjusted her blouse and smoothed down her hair. The last time she had seen him she had told him a very cruel lie.

"No, not at all," she replied nervously. "How have you been, Raoul?"

* * *

A/N: Oh, what is this? More bumps ahead?? You'll just have to wait and see! And, of course, don't forget to review... :)


	56. The Big Day Part 1

**A/N: I can't believe that it's been over a year since I began posting this story. I am so grateful to you all for your support as I know it has much to do with why it has lasted this long. Here, finally is the big day, even though when I first began writing this story I never had any intention of actually writing a wedding for our favorite couple. (weddings have never been my favorite events to write...) So thanks to the lovely suggestion from my beta, this is what I have come up with, split into two parts. Now, without further ado...**

**The Big Day Part 1**

"You invited Raoul to OUR wedding?" Erik shouted into the phone, dressed only in an unbuttoned white shirt and his shiny black briefs.

Christine moved the receiver from her ear as she balanced the thick white towel draped around her head like a turban. Dressed in her robe and fuzzy slippers, she began to pace the room. Maybe telling him was not the best idea… "It's just that…he still thought that I was a lesbian…"

"So?" his angry voice replied.

Angrily, she knitted her brows together in a tight furrow. "So, in order to correct the lie I told him, I decided to tell him the truth."

"And, so you INVITED him to our wedding?" Erik repeated.

"It seemed like the right thing to do," Christine shot back defensively, now very irritated with her soon to be husband.

"Well, it wasn't!"

"What do YOU care?" she shouted back, her own tone matching his equally angry one, "I'm not marrying HIM, Erik. I'm marrying YOU!"

There was something about the very mention of that young man's name that made Erik see red. Though he tried to control his temper, he could barely contain the eruption boiling from deep within his body. All manner of weapons and torture flashed through his mind like a deadly tornado. "Maybe," he began, "you've been planning this all along because you just couldn't stand not seeing the ridiculous vicomte on the very day we marry!"

"That's ridiculous!" Christine shouted, hardly able to believe Erik's irrational response. "You are INSANE!"

"THAT'S what I've been told!" Erik shouted back.

From deep down inside Christine's throat emerged a shriek that nearly shook the walls. "You are impossible, Erik. And if that's what you think, then, then… don't expect to see me at the altar!"

Her words struck him like a silver bullet through his heart. "Fine!"

"Fine!" she screamed back, tears welling in her eyes. Angrily, she took the phone and slammed it down on the smooth wooden surface over and over until Meg entered and rescued the cordless device from Christine's angry grasp, ending the call and setting it gently on the dresser.

Meg looked at her irate friend then and simply shook her head. "You told him."

Tears spilled from Christine's large brown eyes, and the brunette nodded pitifully.

"I told you _not_ to tell him," Meg told Christine. "Remember, I said Erik would…"

"Never understand…I know, Meg," she sniffled. "You were right. I just hoped that after all this time…"

Meg took her friend into her arms. "I know. Don't worry," she soothed, stroking the soft cotton of the towel covering Christine's head. "Everything's going to be all right."

"I…I…I…" Christine sobbed, "I told him…that I won't be…there this afternoon; that…he won't… see me… at the al…al…altar," she finally got out, sobs racking almost every word.

"Did you mean it?" Meg asked.

"N…n…no, of course not."

Meg picked up the phone and held it to Christine, hoping that it still worked after the beating her friend had given it. "Call him back."

Christine simply shook her head. "I can't. I hate him right now."

* * *

Nadir had heard the bellowing of his friend's voice and rushed to find the former opera ghost upstairs in his bedroom. "What was that all about?" he asked, his own voice concerned. Erik only stood there blankly staring at the phone he still held tightly in his palm.

"I think that I just made a very big mistake," Erik replied somberly.

The olive-skinned man looked at his watch. "Well, hurry up and fix it," he told Erik impatiently. "You're due at the church in an hour and a half."

"I don't know, old man," Erik told him in disbelief, his mind reeling at what had just taken place in the last few minutes. "I'm not sure if there is going to be a wedding."

* * *

Meg was not sure how she had done it, but as a good maid of honor should, she convinced Christine to proceed with getting ready as though she had not spoken to Erik. And as the bride to be busied herself in the bathroom washing the tears from her face, Meg headed toward the phone. She was drawn to it like a magnet by a force bigger than herself. It was the third time that day, and the first two times she had been able to walk away, but this time one hand picked up the phone and her fingers dialed the ever-familiar number.

Her breath caught in her throat as she heard his voice, and as much as her mind told her to hang up the phone, her heart would not let her.

"Hello?" his voice said. That voice. She missed it. "Hello?" he said again. "Meggie, is that you?"

Meg bit her lip to keep it from quivering. "It's…it's me, David."

She had missed him so much since he had left four days before, and now she felt all her reasons for ending the relationship slipping away…

"Meggie. Oh, I'm so glad you called. I miss hearing your voice. God, I miss you…"

A stray tear fell from her eye, and as she opened her mouth to reciprocate his sentiments, her mother entered the room.

"Meg?" Antoinette asked, puzzled to see her daughter on the phone. "Why aren't you getting ready?"

Meg quickly covered the mouthpiece. "Just a minute, Mama." She turned away from her mother, hoping that she would leave her in peace, but when she didn't, Meg uncovered the mouthpiece and took a deep breath. "I was calling to find out if my things have been moved."

As soon as Antoinette realized to whom Meg was speaking, she turned and exited the room.

David was quiet for a moment, but when he spoke again, his voice was free of any emotion. "Absolutely, Miss Giry, just as you requested."

"Thank you," she managed, and then hung up the phone, blinking back the tears now stinging at her eyes.

* * *

Frantically, Nadir rapped at the door to Erik's bathroom. As usual, Erik was being completely unreasonable and would not respond to Nadir's queries.

"An hour, Erik! Do you hear me? You are supposed to be getting married in one hour! Don't you think you should try to call her?"

Silence.

"Erik?" Nadir called out again uselessly. With a sigh, he knocked on the door again. "I will take care of it. Just be ready to leave in thirty minutes."

Silence.

Shaking his head and muttering curses, Nadir dialed home, hoping that somehow he could patch up whatever disagreement was taking place between the bride and groom.

Towel drying her hair, Meg picked up the phone on the first ring and greeted her stepfather. She listened as he quickly relayed the situation. "I know. I can't get Christine to talk to him either."

"So is there to be a wedding or not?" Nadir asked.

"I don't know, but Christine's getting ready right now anyway…" she replied, glancing in surprise at the time on the clock. "I have to get dressed myself."

"Fine, but what are we going to do?" Already dressed sharply in his black tuxedo and fully aware of the time, he was becoming more desperate by the moment. "There will be one hundred guests at the church expecting a wedding!"

"I realize that, Nadir, just make sure Erik gets there…"

"But…" Nadir interrupted, wondering just how Meg expected him to accomplish that.

"I have to go," Meg told him. "I'll get Mama. She'll handle this," she told him, completely unaware of the trouble between her mother and stepfather.

Nadir closed his eyes, dread creeping through his entire body. Even more than the unease of the whole situation, he did not feel at all ready to jump into conversation with his wife, with whom he was still very unhappy at that moment. All at once, he could hear whispering voices, and right away could sense that the woman on the other end of the line was not so anxious to speak to him either.

"Hello," Antoinette said as though Meg had not informed her of who was calling.

Nadir cleared his throat. "Hello, Antoinette," he greeted uncomfortably. They had not spoken in four days, and now to be thrust into speaking with her was awkward, to say the least. "It seems that we're in a bit of a bind. We're going to have to put our differences aside for now and somehow get Erik to the altar."

Antoinette's heart was beating wildly at the sound of his voice. She had felt nothing but remorse for the cruel things she had said to her husband, but somehow her pride would not allow her to atone for it. Even now, she had to bite back an insult that was ready and waiting on her tongue. "What do you expect ME to do?" In her mind, the tone was supposed to be softer, and she was going to ask what did he want her to do, but as of late, the words that escaped her lips came out unquestionably harsh.

He sighed. "I don't know," he responded tersely. "That's why I'm calling. Erik has locked himself in the bathroom, he won't speak to me, and I don't know if he has any intention of making it to the church!"

Putting her own bitterness aside, she searched her mind for the answer. There had to be some way of coaxing the former phantom from his isolation. As though the heavens had opened up and dropped down the solution from above, a wave of relief washed over Antoinette. "Listen to me very carefully," she advised him coolly, "and do everything that I tell you."

* * *

A/N: Ooooh, another cliffie! *slaps own hand* Stay tuned and as always, pleasssssse review!


	57. The Big Day Part 2

**The Big Day part 2**

In fact, Raoul was not sure what he was doing there at all. Given his past relationship with Christine, watching her get married seemed to be the last thing he would have ever wanted to see. Then again, he reasoned, once upon a time, they had been friends before anything else. Perhaps their friendship was what brought him here to Christine's wedding. Now, after entering the busy church, he found himself waiting to be seated on the left side to join the many others in the bride's section. He immediately recognized faces from the opera- the managers, other patrons that he did not know personally, and many dancers and singers from the Opera Populaire. As he stood there, his nose was tempted by a captivating fragrance and most especially by a petite blonde who stood in front of him, also waiting. From the back of her baby blue dress, he had already admired the shapely figure of her posterior and legs, and there were a few moments when Raoul actually wondered if the woman before him could be Meg. No, he told himself. Meg was Christine's best friend; she would have to be in the wedding. She appeared to be behind another woman, that one a little older and rotund, and as the two women spoke to one another, Raoul was quickly comforted by the fact that the blonde before him was not Meg. Now, while Raoul was typically attracted to brunettes, there was something very alluring about this blonde, and though she spoke not a word to him, he had wanted in the worst way to see her face. At last he was seated, and to his joy, he was seated beside her, and finally after dismissing any similarities between Meg and this woman, he was absolutely entranced by the ocean color of the woman's blue eyes, by the porcelain of her skin, and by the golden silk of her hair. Though Raoul was no innocent and had plenty of experience with women, he found himself lacking the courage to speak to her for a full two minutes. Finally, with much nerve he willed the words to leave his lips.

"I'm Raoul," he blurted, leaning forward, making contact with the sparkle in her dazzling blue eyes. "Do you… know Christine?"

Caught off guard by the gentleman beside her, Daphne smiled. He was handsome, and she was positively charmed by the flush that graced his cheeks as he spoke. With a coquettish smile and a gentle bat of her lashes, she wielded every bit of femininity she had been born with like a mighty sword as she met the puppy-like expression in his sweet brown eyes.

"Oui."

* * *

Erik stood beside Nadir in the men's bathroom at the church, his face covered by a scowl. "I can't believe you told her about Carlotta."

Nadir nodded happily. "I tell my wife everything." Antoinette's plan had worked like a charm, and though they had far from settled things between themselves they had been working towards a common goal.

"I can't believe that she threatened to reveal my identity to the police," Erik grumbled, his arms folded tightly against his chest.

"Believe it," Nadir replied with a smirk. "Christine is practically a daughter to her."

Shaking his head, Erik began to pace about the room. He was dressed sharply in his black tuxedo, and he realized he was more scared now than he had ever been in his life. "What time is it?"

"Five minutes."

Erik turned to Nadir, grabbing the olive-skinned man by the shoulders and burst out, "What if she doesn't come?"

"She'll be here," Nadir assured him.

* * *

Meg adjusted Christine's veil and patted down some of her shiny brown locks, arranging them around her shoulders. "You look beautiful, Christine."

Busily, Antoinette spread the train out neatly on the carpeted floor.

"I feel sick," the bride replied, fighting the waves of nausea in her stomach. "What if he isn't here?"

Wishing that the two had looked past their stubbornness to speak to one another on the phone, Meg silently prayed for the best. "He'll be here. I mean, I'm sure he's here."

At once, the violins played the familiar song, beckoning the bride with the melody, and as an usher pulled open the doors, Christine breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her groom, ready and waiting there at the altar for her. After all the months of wedding preparations, her eyes did not even meet the velvety red roses adorning every pew, or the breathtaking arrangement of decorative blooms at the altar. She saw Nadir tap Erik's shoulder, turning his attention to her, but could not read the expression in Erik's deep blue eyes. As her feet brought her closer, she wondered what was going through his mind. It was impossible to tell now that tears began to flood her eyes. What was it that she saw on his face? Relief? Anger? Regret? Following her maid of honor down the aisle, Christine blinked at the barrage of bright white of flashes coming at her from every direction, every camera snapping pictures, and every pair of eyes on her.

To Erik, Christine had never looked more beautiful, and even the wedding dress he had designed for her was no match for the princess-like gown of beads, satin, and tulle that draped her beautiful body. It was awkward, still, as the last words that had been spoken between the two were in anger. In the back of his mind, he wondered if she might still change her mind.

Stepping down to meet his bride, he looked into the glassy brown of Christine's eyes, taking her arm in his and together they met the priest, a man of older years with a head of shiny white hair. With kindly blue eyes, the priest met the uncertain gazes of the handsome couple before him. But, before he could speak one word, Erik turned to her.

"I'm sorry, Christine. I am so sorry for what I said," he told her regretfully, his face showing his desperation. "It should not have mattered that you invited the fop."

Fortunately none but the persons nearby, including Meg, Nadir, and the priest could hear the groom's utterances.

"I was wrong for being angry with you," Erik continued, taking the hands of the beauty in his in an imploring gesture.

Tears once again began to fall from her eyes. "I'm sorry, too," she replied. "I never should have invited him without asking you first."

"It doesn't matter, my love," he told her, wanting to take her into his arms and never let her go. "All that matters is that you're here with me right now. I love you, Christine."

"Oh, Erik," she sobbed, squeezing his hands tightly. "I love you, too."

To everyone's surprise, the bride and groom embraced, their lips meeting forcefully with a desperation that perhaps should have been reserved for after the nuptials.

"A hem," the priest proclaimed loudly, reminding the couple that despite the depth of their passion, they were not alone. "Erik and Christine?" His eyes called forth their attention, and happy to see the bride and the groom now facing him, he began.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…"

* * *

Seated together at the head table, Nadir and Antoinette faced forward, watching as the bride and groom danced, although each furtively and repeatedly glanced at the other when they were not looking. The wedding ceremony had gone without further incident, and while Nadir and Antoinette watched the happy couple gaze into each other's eyes, Antoinette felt her own heart melting.

"It was a nice ceremony," she told Nadir, still facing forward.

"Yes, I can hardly believe that Erik is a married man," he replied lightheartedly. After all the two had been through together, it was extraordinary to see Erik now playing the role of an ordinary man.

"He really loves her," she commented.

"He always has."

"Do you suppose he'll still love her… even when she says things…" she trailed off, feeling very foolish to be bringing this up at a wedding reception.

Nadir turned to his wife then. "What sort of things?"

Antoinette inwardly sighed. He certainly had no intention of making this easy for her. "Oh, you know," she began, circling her finger around the rim of her wine glass. "Things that aren't very nice…"

"Such as?"

"Such as… if she ever tells him that she doesn't need him… or never needed him."

Nadir swallowed the lump in his throat. "I suppose it would depend."

She faced him finally. "On what?"

"On whether she really means it or not," Nadir told her, reading the vulnerable expression on Antoinette's face.

"I don't think that she could ever really mean that," Antoinette told him, now curling her napkin nervously in her fingers.

"Then," he began, his heart pounding with relief. "I think that despite what she says, he will _always_ love her, no matter what."

Antoinette smiled then. "She will always love him, too, no matter what."

Smiling, Nadir took her hand in his, his heart feeling full and happy again after the last few days of ache and angst. Before he could lean in and kiss her, he could already feel the softness of her lips on his as she leaned herself against him in a way that made his body come to life with a yearning he knew he would always feel for this woman. Breathless, he pulled away from her, the desire in his eyes mirroring the desire in hers. "Meet me in the men's room."

With a sneaky smile, Antoinette winked. "Don't make me wait too long."

Everything had been perfect, and despite the rocky start, Christine kissed her husband for the fiftieth time that day. Erik was the perfect groom, tall and handsome, sweeping her around the dance floor. And somehow it escaped their attention that Nadir and Antoinette were not sharing the dance with them.

There was another couple out there, however, who seemed to shine as bright as the stars, dancing the night away, and as Raoul gazed into the ocean color of Daphne's blue eyes, Christine had the feeling that this was not the last she would be seeing of her childhood friend.

Watching her best friend and former music teacher in each other's arm, their bodies linked together as they swayed in time to the music, Meg felt truly happy for them. Now, she finally felt at peace with her decision. The simple truth, she realized, was that she wanted everything that David would not give her, and being a part of Christine's wedding had proved that to Meg. With a renewed resolve, she vowed never to look back, and the next day she would fly home with her notebook full of lyrics and begin a new chapter in her life.

* * *

A/N: To those who were worried about Raoul (& a relationship with Meg), you probably had forgotten about the flowers he sent to Daphne waaay back in chapter 31- the epilogue. What I've been trying to do along with featuring Meg's career and personal love life is fill in the blanks from the end to the epilogue. I think I really messed with my timeline, though, so please forgive any discrepancies...There will be a new post next week, so please stay tuned, and as always, please review!


	58. Never Say Never

A/N: First of all let me give a big thanks to those of you who are STILL here with me after all I have put you through. The following chapters have been going more slowly for me and I hope you can bear with me if it takes longer than usual to get them out.

**Never Say Never**

_10 Months Later…_

"Your eyes are like the gentle water of a stream,

The gold of your hair is like an encompassing ray of light,

The curve of your smile is like the warmth of the morning sun,

The gentle glow of your skin shines like a quiet fire,

But, it is your heart that gives me life; it is your soul that summons my every breath,

You; my pulse races at your sight,

You; you are my only reason," Meg read, cradling the phone to her shoulder and holding the note in her two hands. Miles away in her Santa Monica apartment, the afternoon sun was streaming through the partially open blinds in her bedroom.

"Wow!" Christine breathed, sitting in bed and gazing at the Paris moon through the window. "That is beautiful, Meg! I think that's the best one yet." She could not help but glance in the direction of her husband lying there beside her with eyes closed, more than likely already asleep.

"Yeah…" Meg agreed, looking down at the words so elegantly stated on the page.

"So, do you think it could be David?"

Meg let out a giggle. "No! David was as romantic as a T-bone steak. Besides, I told you that he and I are just friends now."

"Still, it seems that whoever wrote this already knows you."

"I doubt it, Christine. Just because someone reads about me in a magazine or on the internet does not mean they know me. It is _definitely_ a stalker."

"You always say that, Meg, but that doesn't mean that it is…"

"It's creepy, I tell you. Before these notes used to turn up at the agency, and then in the mail, but now they're at my door."

"What does David say? Should you call the police?"

"Unless it appears threatening I don't think there's much they can do. Like the paparazzi, stalkers come with the territory. So, I go out, I take my tazer gun, and have grown eyes in the back of my head."

Christine was sure she did not like the sound of that. "So, what are you going to do about the note?"

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. "I'm going to do what I always do. I'm going to read it again and let myself enjoy it for exactly five minutes, and then it's going into the paper shredder."

"Meg! You're going to shred it?"

"Of course," she told her, now wanting to change the subject. "So, how is the production of _Don Juan Triumphant_?"

"It's slow going," Christine told Meg on the phone as she cuddled in bed beside Erik's warm body.

"Why is that?" Meg asked, taking the note in her hand and folding it in half. After glancing at the clock, she rose and moved to her large walk-in closet. Her fingers immediately began flipping through outfit after outfit, surveying the possibilities in her wardrobe.

"We have everyone cast in _Don Juan Triumphant_ except for our Don Juan. No one seems to be good enough…for Erik, I mean. We've auditioned dozens of men, and there were at least a handful that I thought were perfect."

Erik, whom Christine thought already asleep, grumbled, "Not perfect- bumbling buffoons, every last one of them!"

Meg laughed, having heard her former tutor in the background. Pausing at the long conservative black dress hanging on the hanger in front of her, she suggested, "Well, why doesn't Erik perform it himself?"

"He doesn't pewfowm it himsewf because he's scaaawed," Christine replied, puckering her lips as she spoke.

Erik rolled over to face his wife. "I am _not _scared! I can't be in it and direct it at the same time! _Someone_ has to be in charge!" he shot back defensively.

Christine sighed. "You heard him," she said, holding the phone between herself and Erik.

"But, in the movies…" Meg began, but was interrupted by Erik's impatient words.

"Film is _not_ opera!"

The blonde sighed. "Whatever." Deciding against the dress in front of her, she flipped through a few more outfits and then gasped out loud. "I just thought of someone who would be perfect! He is probably back in Spain by now, and if I give him a call, I'm sure he will audition for you."

"Who?" Christine asked curiously.

"Do you remember the Spaniard I met when I was on tour a few months ago? He sings, dances, and is probably between projects."

"Right," Christine remembered. "Ricardo? You were dating him, weren't you?"

"Ricardo and I did not officially date. Although gorgeous to look at, Ricky was much more into himself than he was into me."

"Oh, that's too bad, Meg."

"Don't feel bad, Christine. I am perfectly happy. For the first time, I am completely on my own, and I am finding out who I am and what I really want."

Christine could not help but feel sorry for her friend. "Well, if that's what you want…"

"That's what I want," Meg reaffirmed. "Besides, men don't like women who are brutally honest, and if they can't handle the truth, then I don't have time to waste on them."

"But, someday, Meg, maybe not right away, you'll fall in love again," Christine told her, always the hopeless romantic.

"Never!" Meg replied positively. "I am _never_ going to fall in love again."

Furrowing her brows, Christine looked at the phone in her hand. "I don't think that you have a choice about that."

"Oh, believe me. I am no longer living my life according to my heart."

"Never say never," Christine warned with a yawn.

"If you say so," Meg told her doubtfully, fingering a long stylish baby blue top on the hanger. "Well, I'd better go, Christine. I have to be at Capitol Records in an hour."

"I thought you finished recording your first album already."

"I did. We are meeting about my second album. Apparently, they want me to meet with them about the album design, and tomorrow I will meet the new lyricist they hired to discuss some new songs."

"Meg, I am so excited for you! Someday, you'll be too famous to remember us little people…"

Meg shook her head, selecting a pair of black leggings. "Oh, don't worry. I will never forget all the little people I had to step on to get here," she joked.

Christine smiled. She really missed her friend. "Love you."

"Love you, too."

* * *

Meg stepped outside of the Capitol Records building into the fresh spring air and the busy hum of the cars. With the sky a vibrant blue, a smile graced her lips, and her heart felt light.

Whoever dreamed that she would be recording a second album?

She was still reeling from the success of her first. Although half of her songs had made it into the top forty in the United States, her larger fan base was in China and Japan. The studio executives had suggested that the right lyricist would send her music straight to the top.

Before she headed in the direction of her car, her eyes were drawn, as they always were, to the dance studio adjacent. It was empty. Just weeks ago, the cheery ballet studio had gone out of business, and now with a For Sale sign on the window, Meg's feet led the way. Her eyes darted back and forth as she tugged on the boarded up door, the padlock formerly in place now hanging crookedly from the hasp. Sadly, the building had been vandalized, and now with just a little effort, she was able to force open the door and step into the large, vacant room.

After setting down her purse, she removed her heels and let her stockinged feet connect with wooden flooring, which by now had lost its shine. Moving towards the long wall mirror, she was instantly drawn toward the barre that extended the mirror's length. It had been nearly two years since her body had experienced the beauty and discipline of ballet, and as she stretched a long limb stiffly onto the hip-length bar, Meg could feel the tightness of her once limber body fighting her movements. Ignoring the resistance of her muscles, her arm extended gracefully outward and then inward to meet the tip of her toes. She did several long stretches, willing her arms and legs to regain their former pliability. Rusty though she was, it seemed that her love for the dance had never left her, and as Meg stood before the mirror in the vacant, dusty ballet studio, she closed her eyes, and in her soul she could hear the music…

* * *

He watched as the blonde took to the floor with natural grace. She was a breathtaking sight. While it was something he had forgotten about her, he could clearly see that she was a dancer. For a woman with such an exquisite singing voice, she was surprisingly agile. He was amazed as he watched her; her lithe body leapt across the floor performing pirouettes, her long limbs gliding and stepping with all the talent of a prima ballerina. It was easy to imagine her on the stage, her feet and body moving in time with the orchestra. It was as though he could hear the music as she danced, and he found himself swept away by her spontaneous performance. When she stopped finally ending in an elegant arabesque, his hands came together in an enthusiastic applause.

Meg opened her eyes, suddenly self-conscious. She had been so caught up in her own memories and feelings that she had not even noticed that she was not alone.

"Bravo!" he said, impressed with the versatile beauty.

Embarrassed first, but then shocked by his sudden appearance, Meg's eyes narrowed at the man who was standing by the door. "What are you doing here, Ryan?"

He stuck his hands in his pockets nervously and tried to meet her angry gaze. "I've been waiting for the right time to talk to you."

She leaned her head to the side suspiciously and then laughed, shaking her head. "For you, there will never be a good time to talk to me."

"Please, Marguerite. If you'll just give me a chance…"

With a sigh, she walked toward him and slipped her feet back into her shoes. He was different - the same - but different. His chestnut hair was still the same, and annoyingly, his brown eyes still sent a jolt of electricity through her body when he looked at her, but his features suggested that the boyish man that she had been in love with once upon a time had matured. His face, previously absent of facial hair, now had a slight mustache and beard which definitely lent a scruffy quality to his typically neat appearance.

"What is it you want, Ryan?" she asked brusquely.

"I've been trying to get up the courage to talk to you. The only thing I've been able to do successfully is send you notes…"

Meg's eyes widened. "You?! _You're_ my stalker?!"

"Stalker?" he replied, now with a chuckle. "I would hardly call myself a stalker, but I have been following your career, Marguerite. I'm one of your biggest fans."

Quickly she moved to her purse, unzipping it and reaching for her tazer gun. "Stay away from me, Ryan." She pulled out her personal weapon and held it up so that he could see. "Don't make me use this."

He held up his hands in defense. "I have no intention of harming you. I just wanted to talk to you."

"Oh? And how does Joanna feel about that? Or did she finally come to her senses and divorce you?" As of late, her sharp tongue had spat out the words before she had thought them through. She regretted saying it as soon as she saw the hurt on his face and lowered her hand to her side.

He cleared his throat. "Actually, Joanna passed away. It's been almost eight months."

Silently, Meg cursed herself for her harsh words. Dizzy from his revelation, she could not summon the proper response. "H...h...how?"

"Brain tumor. In fact, when you and I broke up, Joanna already knew she was dying, but wanted to live her last months with me," he told her quietly.

Meg had no words as she stood there, staring at him, partially wondering if he could be making this all up.

"After I lost Joanna, I couldn't stop thinking of you. I always cared for you, Marguerite, even more than I was willing to admit. There hasn't been anyone else since."

She felt tears all of a sudden pricking at her eyes. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Ryan, but I'm not going to lie to you. I'm not the same starry-eyed girl that I used to be. I'm not going to swoon at your feet now that you're back. How did you find me, by the way?" she asked as an afterthought.

"David told me, and I'm sorry things didn't work out for the two of you. Honestly, when I asked him to fly out to London to see you, I thought he was still married."

Brushing back her hair, she allowed her bitterness to return. "Well, that was months ago, and as you can see now, I'm just fine. I don't need anyone, Ryan."

"Marguerite, I was hoping that you and I…"

Meg raised her hand to him, aiming her tazer once again. "Stop right there. You don't need to finish that sentence. There is no future for you and me, Ryan."

"There was a time that you used to be in love with me," he reminded.

"Yes, and then you broke my heart," she added quickly. All this time, she had supposed that since she had not shared her feelings he had not known what they were. Apparently, he was more perceptive than what she had given him credit, and now all she could do was shoot back the pain he had given her. "Besides I'm never going to fall in love again, so, please, leave now… and don't force me to get a restraining order."

In truth, he had expected this reaction. This was why he had waited so long to talk to her. A smirk appeared on his lips. "That won't be necessary. But, I'm just curious, Marguerite. You plan on never falling in love again?"

"That's right. NEVER."

"I don't think that you have any control over that."

"Well, I assure you, I do."

He shook his head and shot her a good-natured smile. She had changed, but Ryan did not find himself daunted by her new attitude. "Well, thank you for talking to me today, Marguerite. I really have missed everything about you. Especially your smile."

The ice in her heart began immediately to thaw. She watched as he turned away from her and pulled the handle on the door. Her first impulse was to not let him walk away like this, but her mind would not allow her to stop him. Abruptly, he paused for just a moment and then turned and faced her.

"Marguerite?"

Stiffening her body, she kept her tone tight, ignoring the pounding of her heart. "Yes?"

Ryan gave her a boyish smile. "Never say never."

* * *

A/N: Okay, I'm sure you have to have some thoughts on this. I'd love to hear them, so please review :)


	59. Stuck

_A/N: Thanks so much to all of who reviewed last chapter, even if some were not favorable toward Ryan. Do not lose hope and let's see where this goes..._

**Stuck**

Morning had come too soon for Meg. Having arrived back home from her performance after two a.m., she now glanced sleepily at the alarm clock on her nightstand. _8:30_. She was suddenly seized by the temptation to take the annoying buzzing device and throw it at the wall as hard as she possibly could. As a rule, David refrained from scheduling her appointments for morning because of her late night schedule, but Capitol Records was not as forgiving, and in an hour and a half she was due there to meet with the new lyricist.

With a yawn, she sat up in her bed, rubbing her eyes while the memories of the day before flooded her consciousness with a vengeance.

Ryan! He had been there, hadn't he? Surely, she hadn't dreamt it. No, he was definitely there, her mind confirmed as she moved to the bathroom and splashed some cool water on her face. The last time she had seen him was nearly a year and a half prior when he had hastily told her goodbye after their performance in _Wicked_ in London. And now after all this time he was here in California, spying on her as she had danced in the empty ballet studio. In fact, he had even had the nerve to admit he had written those love notes! Meg had not gotten over it. In fact, after this meeting, Meg was determined to pay David a visit and let him know exactly how she felt about him giving away her personal information!

Still, after all this time and the heartbreak that Ryan had left her with, Meg found herself disturbed by much he still affected her. No, he was no longer a boy, and the lines on his face had revealed that Ryan had experienced his own share of heartache…but even though she had been tempted to let herself be pulled in by the magnetic quality of those smoldering brown eyes, and her own heart had ached for him and the loss of his childhood sweetheart, her mind firmly pushed it away. It was for the best, she told herself. While she told herself this, her eyes were suddenly drawn to the note on her dresser.

It was his poem that he had written to her. Why had she not shredded it? Though she tried to keep up her tough as nails attitude, she found herself rereading his words, now relating to how Ryan had meant them, and to her dismay Meg began to find her insides turning to mush. It was unnerving! With new determination, she folded the note in half and stepped angrily to her office. Although she positioned the note over the unforgiving teeth of the paper shredder, Meg's traitorous hands would not allow her to feed it Ryan's poem. Finally, she withdrew it, deciding instead to bury it somewhere in her old pile of cards and letters. After all, she rationalized; it could only do her harm _if_ she re-read it. No, it would remain in a stack of correspondence that she had not looked at in ages.

It was harmless. She had made it clear to Ryan that there was no future between them, and it was unlikely that he would seek her out again. After sticking the note into a drawer full of papers, she slammed it shut and breathed a sigh of relief. Her heart felt safe once again. He was just a part of her past now, and she had put him away along with her feelings for her former tutor and for her agent. _Perfectly safe…_

With a satisfied smile, she made her way to her shower to get herself ready for the day.

* * *

The receptionist led Meg to a small bright meeting room, and with ten minutes to spare before the meeting, the blonde smiled pleasantly to the plump, balding man who stood up to greet her.

"Marguerite," he greeted with a smile that seemed permanently affixed to his face. He took her hand in his, shaking it enthusiastically. "It's good meeting with you again."

"Mr. Whitehall, it is a pleasure to be here," she told him in return as he directed her to sit at the small round table. She had not been nervous at first, and she supposed that had been because she had not allowed herself much time to think about it; but now the reality was setting in, and she could feel her hands becoming clammy.

The receptionist offered her something to drink, then after a moment returned with a bottle of water, setting it down onto the table, and rushing back out.

Mr. Whitehall gazed at the blonde across from him. Indeed, she would make them all a lot of money… "I think that you're going to like the lyricist we chose to work with you, Marguerite. Did you have any questions?"

She had many. "How long will we be working together?"

"As long as it takes," he replied, matter-of-factly. "That's him now," he remarked, his eyes looking toward the door.

By now she was very curious, and turned to face her new colleague. Her jaw dropped at the sight of him. He stood tall, his chestnut hair was combed perfectly in place, his eyes were warm, and his smile was unmistakable. _Ryan._

Mr. Whitehall rose to greet him and shook his hand while the receptionist offered him a beverage. Meg was speechless at the sight of him and quickly began to feel anger taking control of her body. She stood up in objection, stammering like an idiot. "Uh, Mr. Whitehall, he…he…"

"This is Ryan Cooke," he introduced, oblivious to Meg's concerns. Then he turned back to Ryan. "I'd like for you to meet the very lovely and talented Marguerite."

Ryan extended his hand to Meg to shake, but Meg only folded her hands together.

"Oh," Mr. Whitehall remarked at the tension he finally noticed on the singer's face. "Have we already met?"

"As a matter of fact," Ryan began with a smile, "we have already had the pleasure."

Meg was infuriated. This was like a cruel joke that everyone had been in on but her. She could tell by the expression on Ryan's face that he had already known in advance exactly with whom he would be working.

"Well then," Mr. Whitehall said, clapping his hands with a note of finality, "I will leave you to your work. If you need anything, contact my secretary," he told them, turning to exit the room.

"No…no, Mr. Whitehall," she objected, rushing over to him. She gestured outside the door to speak with him privately. Shutting the door behind her, she shook her head in exasperation.

"Is there a problem?"

"Yes, there is. You see, I just can't work with him. It's personal," she confessed.

At this, the man only chuckled. "Oh, now, now, Miss Giry. _This_ isn't personal. This is business," he told her with that still ever-present smile. "Ryan Cooke, although relatively new to the field, is a genius. I suggest that the two of you put your personal differences aside for the sake of your career."

Meg was sure she did not like the sound of that and considered at that very moment getting David on the phone, but for some reason she had a sinking feeling that her agent was behind this. "Fine. All right," she agreed calmly, and then turned back toward the closed door with dread. With eyes closed, she took a deep breath. Marguerite Giry was a professional, and despite her qualms about working with her ex-boyfriend, she was perfectly capable of handling herself in a mature, calm manner.

Mr. Whitehall shook his head after seeing the lovely blonde reenter the room. He had no idea what their differences were, nor did he care. He was in the business of making money, and putting those two together was a surefire way of accomplishing that goal. _It's too bad_, he thought as he peeked in the window, still seeing the apprehensive look on the singer's face. _They might have made a lovely couple_…

* * *

It was tough for Meg to fight the agitation she was feeling as the man across from her sat there with his charming, perfect smile. To Meg, this definitely felt like a conspiracy…

Before he could say one word, she spoke, but it ended up coming out eerily like a hiss, "I know what you're trying to do."

He had the nerve to look surprised. "And what is that, exactly?"

Narrowing her eyes, she was ready to spit fire at her handsome ex-boyfriend. "Do you think I'm stupid, Ryan? That I can't see that this is just a ploy to get back together? I've already told you…"

Ryan put his hand up, hoping to cap off what was turning out to be the beginning of a rant. "I don't know what you're talking a..."

"The notes?" she cut in. "The stalking and now all of a sudden you're here as my lyricist?"

Shaking his head, he tried to reason with her. "Marguerite…I did not plan this…"

Closing her eyes, she attempted to cool her temper. Her water bottle was still within reach and she was more than tempted to throw it at him. She jumped up suddenly, glaring at the man she once thought she would marry. "I can't do this," she told him. Just the moment before she thought she could, but now rage had taken over her mind.

"Marguerite…please…"

"No!" she exclaimed, now holding both hands up. "This meeting is over."

* * *

"David!" Meg shouted, walking past Jenna and storming into his office. "What in hell were you thinking?"

Surprised at her outburst, David looked up at her from his desk. "Good morning to you, too, Meggie."

"You knew!" she told him, pointing an accusing finger with one hand and slamming his office door with the other. "You told Ryan how to find me, where I lived, and now, you've made it so that I HAVE to work with him!"

"Now, now, Meggie…I did not make it so you had to work with him. That was a coincidence. Capitol Records decided that."

She was not consoled by his words. "So, what about everything else? You can't tell me that you had nothing to do with it!"

"Ryan's family and my family have been close for years. His parents wanted to be sure that he wasn't all alone out here and…"

"And you thought it was a good idea to try to put us back together?" she yelled. "He dumped me! Don't you remember?"

David exhaled. "Of course, I remember. I mean that I thought the two of you could be friends. You and I are friends," he pointed out, "and besides, the kid's been through some tough times. He's not a bad person."

Meg shook her head in exasperation. "This isn't going to work, David. I refuse to work with him. Do you hear me? I'm NOT going to work with him!"

The Next Day…

Meg paced in front of her apartment building impatiently. Dressed in black jogging pants and matching t-shirt, she glanced at her watch. It was bad enough that David had told her that she could not even buy her way out of her contract if she wanted too, but now Ryan was late in meeting her. At that moment, she saw a silver sedan pull up alongside the curb next to her and park.

"You're late!" she told him as he stepped out carrying a black leather laptop bag.

"I'm sorry," he replied, quickly making his way to the angry blonde, slightly puzzled by her exercise apparel. "My alarm didn't go off this morning."

She was walking in place now. "Try to be on time, next time."

Ryan nodded, turning toward her apartment. "Well, let's get started…"

"If we are going to work together, Ryan, it will be on my terms," she told him sternly. She now began to jog in place, smiling to herself. It was true she could not violate her contract, but perhaps she could help him change his mind about working with her, and after confirming with Mr. Whitehall it mattered not where they did business.

He looked at her uncertainly. "Well, where then are we going to work?"

"We," she told him, now beginning to pant as she picked up her pace, "are going to run."

His brown eyes widened at her response. Clearly he could see that she was a different woman now, and after yesterday's meeting, Ryan was not so foolish as to believe that this strong-willed woman would simply comply. "Run?" he asked, looking down at his dress shoes.

"That's right," she replied with a smile, jogging in a circle around him. Wearing black dress pants, a blue dress shirt and matching tie, he was definitely not dressed for running. "You cannot deprive me of my morning workout seeing that it is the only time I have to do it."

With a sigh, he held up his laptop bag. "How are we supposed to work?" he asked, turning to face her.

Without missing a beat, she pulled a small handheld device from her pocket. "Tape recorder."

"Marguerite," he began to object, but she was quick to interrupt him.

"If we are going to work together, Ryan, it HAS to be on my terms." She watched his face as he stayed quiet, and she could detect the anger in those attractive brown eyes. He turned, headed back to his car, and unlocked his door.

That's it, she thought. He's done, he's going to quit, and her heart now would be safe… But, instead of getting inside, he simply set his bag on the driver's seat and shut the door. To her dismay, he jogged over to her and began to stretch.

"So, we're running then?" he asked, now beginning to jog in place.

Furrowing her brows, she looked at him. She had not managed to scare him off…how unfortunate…and the spicy scent of his cologne was hard to ignore.

Without a word, she began jogging and he kept his pace beside her. They jogged in silence until Ryan finally spoke.

"Marguerite…"

"Meg," she corrected tersely. She met his brown eyes dead on. "I DON'T want you to call me Marguerite anymore." In fact, only her close personal friends at home had called her Meg, but somehow if she was going to be working with him for an undesignated length of time, she had to even the playing field somehow. It was too awkward for him to be here like this back here in her life, calling her by the name he used to call her when she was in love with him. It was best this way.

"Fine…Meg…"

Her frustration began to grow with every step. She halted her pace, panting as she spoke. "Why didn't you tell me, Ryan, that you were going to be my lyricist? And don't tell me that you didn't know."

"I only interviewed with them two days ago, Mar…" he paused at his error, continuing to jog in place. "Meg. They called me the night after I saw you and told me that I had the job," he told her innocently.

"So, how _are _you qualified to be working with me?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, hoping that she was sounding arrogant enough to frighten him away.

He met her blue eyes evenly. "You've heard the song "Another Tomorrow"?"

She nodded. It was in the top ten and one of her personal favorites.

"I co-wrote that song. Also, you know "Last Wishes"?" he inquired, hoping to match her smug tone but without actually sounding smug.

Meg was impressed. It had been played on the radio constantly. "You co-wrote that song also?"

"No," he replied, gazing into those endless pools of blue, and halting his pace. How he had missed those blue eyes… "I wrote that one by myself…lyrics and music."

She stared at him blankly, even more impressed. And he had been the author of all those beautiful poems…Remembering her workout, she began to jog again. Without being able to refute his qualifications she was stuck with him. _Stuck. _

"So," she said reluctantly, her tone reflecting her dread. She wished that a hole would appear in the ground and swallow him up. "How do we begin?"

* * *

A/N: And of course, don't forget to review!


	60. Cooperation

A/N: Thanks to _all_ my reviewers, but I especially wanted to say an extra special thanks to Dramatick- a new reader and reviewer who left a very kind, meaningful review (a real picker-upper). Here are some ooey gooey virtual chocolate chip cookies with macadamia nuts for you, Dramatick, and for all of you lovely people out there! As to my reviewers who are less than pleased with how this is turning out, I beg your indulgence...please hang in there with me!

**Cooperation**

Meg was slightly amused as he tried to pitch lyrics to her, his breath coming out in loud gasping pants as he spoke. Beneath the clear blue sky and the warming heat from the sun, which was gradually becoming more and more unforgiving every moment, Ryan's usually perfect chestnut hair bounced up and down, and circles of sweat were beginning to appear at his armpits.

"I don't think so," she told him carelessly, still jogging at a steady pace, and tossing his carefully thought out lyrics like a chewed piece of bubble gum.

Ryan shrugged his shoulders. "That's okay. I have some more ideas…"

Her eyes faced him then. "_I_ have ideas. Remember…my album, _my_ ideas."

"Right…well, actually, Mr. Whitehall and the others already suggested which direction they would like for the new album to take."

"But…"

"Having a broken heart and weeping over a lost love was your first album, Meg," he told her, noting the horrified look on her face. Even calling her by that name sounded foreign to him, but the way he saw it, he was there to do a job despite their past and despite their feelings for each other. Her hostility had been tough to take, but Ryan was just grateful for the opportunity to be near her. "Capitol Records would like to see something more upbeat…happy…fun…"

Happy? Fun? Meg could not believe what she was hearing. Somehow during all those meetings and contracts, there had never been any mention of this. "I write from the heart, Ryan. I write what touches me."

"We have that in common," he replied. He had been inspired to write after the loss of his wife and his new found talent had brought him quick success. "But, maybe this time," he began, wiping the sweat from his forehead, "we can approach it on a more positive note. "How about… new love?"

"New love?" she laughed incredulously, her eyes trying not to stare as he unbuttoned his shirt and removed it from his tan, well-formed torso. Dark brown chest hairs stared teasingly at her as his chest glistened in the morning sun, and his abs still displayed those unforgettable ripples… "You have got to be kidding me!"

"What?" he asked innocently, liking the feel of her gaze on him. It gave him hope.

Frustrated, she tore her gaze away and instead tried to focus on a German shepherd leaping in the air to catch a Frisbee. "Just two days ago I told you that I was never going to fall in love again and that there was no future for us…"

"That's it!" he burst out, now running backward facing her. "The title of the first song should be "Never Say Never"."

It was catchy, she had to admit, but at that moment Meg had no desire to give her ex boyfriend even a bit of encouragement. And besides, she desperately wished that he would put his shirt back on. Instead she just glared at him and gave one long, exaggerated sigh.

Unfortunately for Ryan, he lost his footing on the uneven pavement as he continued to run backward and his bottom connected with the sidewalk in an awkward thud.

It was all she could do not to burst out loud laughing as she covered her mouth in surprise. She picked up her pace then and ran as far ahead of him as she could, hoping that he was okay, but forbidding herself to look behind her to see.

"Marguer…Meg!" he shouted, as he craned his neck to watch her run far ahead of him. Embarrassed, dirty, and now probably bruised, Ryan rose to his feet and dusted himself off. But as he turned to begin running again, Meg's shapely figure had disappeared from his sight. With mounting frustration, he threw his bunched up shirt on the ground. He thought he had known just what he'd gotten himself into when he accepted this job, anticipating her reaction to him. He deserved the hostility, there was no doubt of that, but still he refused to give up hope…

* * *

The water ran hot and soothing down Meg's body, and as the steam from the shower fogged up the bathroom mirror, she couldn't help but giggle. Meg congratulated herself. Ryan had not been back in front of her apartment building when she had returned, nor had he knocked on her door, or contacted her by phone. Mission accomplished! Sure, there was a part of her that felt guilty for treating him this way, but there was another even bigger part of her that cautioned her to stay as far away from him as she possibly could. It was best this way, she told herself.

She readied herself quickly, pleased that she still had some time to run errands before her performance that evening. After grabbing her keys and a shiny red apple for the road, she opened her front door, but before she could step out she spotted a small arrangement of daisies, its long stems still wrapped in clear cellophane on her welcome mat. Her pulse quickened at the sight of the white flowers and she picked up the modest bouquet, searched for and found the small card attached.

_Meg,_

_Surely, you don't think you're rid of me yet?_

_See you tomorrow._

_Ryan_

Closing her eyes, she crumpled the tiny card in her hand. An odd mixture of hatred and relief came over her. She seethed, picturing his bright, happy smile. A dark mood began to take hold of her. Taking the arrangement back into her apartment, she muttered curses with every step.

Meg felt herself losing a grip on her sanity as she filled a large vase with water and bitterly dumped the bouquet inside. Desperately she reached for her cell phone.

"Meg! I'm so happy to hear your voice!" Christine told her. "It's such a mess here. This theater is so old and the lighting needs to be redone, the seats reupholstered…"

"You're still at the theater?" Meg asked in confusion. It had to be at least 8 o'clock at night in Paris.

"Yes!" she sighed. "We've been trying to negotiate the terms for using this theatre, but it doesn't look good…especially for a brand new production. Erik heard something about an old theater that was for sale, and I think he is very interested…"

"Oh?" Meg asked.

"The bad thing is that it's in London. If we purchased it, we'd have to take up residence there, and I don't know, Meg. I just don't know if I want to leave Paris. Paris is my home."

"London?" For some reason it had knocked the wind out of Meg to hear Christine say that. She had lived in London for close to a year, and it was there she had begun her new life away from the Opera Populaire, but now such news seemed too big to think about - too life changing. "That's quite a change, Christine."

"I know," she told her, "but considering our options right now, it sounds like the best one."

Meg could hear the loud, demanding tone of Erik's voice in the background and Christine's hurried voice spoke once again.

"Oh, also your Ricardo from Spain will be flying in to audition for us this week."

"He's not "my" Ricardo, Christine," Meg told her with a laugh, pleased to hear that he would be seeking the opportunity to play Don Juan in their production. "Ricky is perfect, you'll see."

"We'll see what the maestro thinks," Christine told her, shaking her head. She doubted that her husband would find any man suitable - much less perfect - for that role. "I'll let you know what happens."

"All right." It was clear to Meg that her busy friend was distracted, and when Christine told her that she had to go, Meg's heart sank. After saying their goodbyes with promises to speak again soon, the blonde began to pace her apartment. Christine's news was big, but nothing was for certain. Still wanting desperately to vent about her impossible situation, Meg realized she had no one to vent to.

David had been partially responsible for this mess, and her mother would probably be delighted that Ryan was back in the picture. With this sullen realization, she took her cell phone and threw it angrily at her couch.

Ryan had been more than willing to collaborate, and it was she who was being difficult, although, she told herself, she had every reason to be. From that point on, she decided to put her personal feelings aside and just get through it. The sooner she and Ryan were finished with their work, the sooner she would be rid of him.

A wave of calm washed through her and Meg moved to her couch to retrieve her phone. Snapping out of her mood, a smile played about her lips, and she set about to resume her intended errands. Working with him was inevitable, yes…but it did not have to be pleasant.

Day 2

"You're on time today," she commented, her voice tight and unimpressed. Dressed in matching grey sweatpants and tank top, she was jogging in place in front of her apartment building. She made a point not to meet his eyes, but could see that unlike yesterday, he was dressed in black jogging pants and t-shirt.

"Right on time," he told her, smiling. Taking a place beside her, he began to stretch his long legs and sun-kissed arms. The California sun had been good to him… "It's a beautiful morning for a run, isn't it?"

Meg tried not to let his cheery tone get to her. "As a matter of fact, we are _not_ running this morning."

"No?"

"No," she answered dryly. "And keep your shirt on."

Pedaling as fast as she could, Meg tried to work out all of her frustration on the exercise bike as golden boy pedaled on the one beside her.

His ideas were endless, and every time she knocked one down, he was right back at her with another. Unfortunately for Meg, the private gym in her apartment building was empty except for her and Ryan. With limitless energy, her ex-boyfriend hopped from the treadmill, moved to the stair master, and then took to the free weights. And as he worked on his bicep curls, Meg tried to keep her focus away from the painfully obvious muscles of his arms.

"Too long, it's been too long," he began, taking breaths between each curl of the dumbbell. "My heart's been aching, it's been too long…for you and me…"

He had sung the words this time, and breathy though it had been, Meg had forgotten how remarkably beautiful his voice was…and what a disastrous effect it could have on her.

Ryan looked to her this time, and amazingly, the blonde beauty had not shot down his idea. Instead, she was meeting his eyes, and the dazzling blue of her eyes seemed to shine.

"So? Was that not horrible?" Ryan asked a bit apprehensively.

She shook her head and did something that Ryan had been waiting for her to do, but so far had not shown any signs of doing. With immense satisfaction, Ryan watched as her delicate hand dipped inside her pocket and removed the tiny little tape recorder.

After clicking the record button, she held up the small device. "Go on."

Day 3

Meg was scared.

By the end of the second day, the two of them had worked through the third chorus of the first song. His voice had been mesmerizing, and she could not remember feeling so entranced by a man's singing since Erik had tutored her. She had to kick herself for forgetting what a talented performer Ryan was and how powerfully his song could possess her. In a moment of weakness, she remembered actually smiling…at him.

It was too risky to be alone with him. Today a smile…the next day- who knows? No, she told herself.

Outside her apartment building, she tapped her foot, waiting for his silver sedan to arrive.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of his car pulling around the corner, and held her breath as he parked alongside the curb. It was settled, she decided. She would definitely ask that he NOT sing to her, although, today was not going to be like yesterday, she thought with a smile as he exited his car wearing a white tank top and dark blue jogging pants that bore the Nike logo. _Just Do It…_

She should have told him to cover up his biceps, er…arms, she thought, but today, it should not prove to be a problem.

His smile faded and his mouth nearly dropped as he faced her. "Meg?" he said, gritting his teeth. He was beginning to tire of this, especially after yesterday when they seemed to make so much progress, but still he refused to let anger take over.

"Good morning, Ryan," she responded innocently.

"You look beautiful," he muttered, clenching his jaw in irritation. Indeed she did, dressed in a pink fitted top and flowery calf-length skirt. It was nearly autumn, and she was the picture of spring glory. And in her strappy sandals, he could see ten perfectly manicured toes.

Meg smiled.

"So, I take it that we are not exercising today?" he asked.

"That is correct," she told him brightly, enjoying how he was struggling to maintain his calm.

Ryan shook his head. "_What_ are we doing today?" he asked with dread in his tone. Whatever it was, dressed the way he was, with her being dressed the way she was, Ryan had the feeling he was not ready for it.

"I have to get my nails done." She said it casually and without looking at him, even though she could tell he was like a bomb waiting to explode. Instead, she simply held out her hands and gazed upon her fingernails.

"Oh, come on!"

"It's an emergency," she informed him. "My schedule is full today and I have to get it done before tonight's show."

"An emergency?"

"Yes. This morning I broke a nail," she explained, promptly raising her right hand, and holding up her middle finger. "See, it's broken?"

Hastily, he covered her exposed middle finger, having noticed that the nail had, in fact, been chipped. "Okay, you could have just told me," he said with a frustrated sigh. "You don't have to _show_ me your middle finger. Don't you know what that means?"

"Yes," she replied with an obvious smile. "So, let's go already. I have an appointment and I don't want to be late."

* * *

Despite his supposed frustration with her, her little outing had backfired. In her attempt to make Ryan feel uncomfortable and out of place in the nail salon, he somehow managed to charm every female inhabitant. And as luck would have it, there was a more than willing manicurist to tend to his hands as well. The level of progesterone in the room was overbearing, and Meg was sorely tempted to leave him there in the midst of his new admirers- young and old. Tell us more, they told him, begging for his attention, and in a voice as smooth as silk, he did. It would seem that he, the lyricist, were truly the pop star. To her fury, she actually noticed some women slipping him their business cards with a wink. And Meg was left quietly to fume at her seat while her own manicurist lavished more focus on the handsome young jogger than on the songstress before her. Happy when it was over, she pulled Ryan away from the salon and rolled her eyes as the chorus of female voices bade him goodbye.

"Well, that went well," he told her, "Although, we didn't get any work done."

Furiously, Meg pushed the button on her remote, sounding the chirping of the car alarm and entered her white convertible. Without meeting his eyes, she gestured for him to enter. "Get in!" she hissed.

At this he could not help but smile. "What's wrong?"

After carefully finding the right key with her brand new nails, she quickly started the engine. She kept her face forward, feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks.

"You won't speak to me. Oh," he said, as though he had a sudden realization. "I get it. You are jealous."

Meg laughed out loud. "I am not…what do I have to be jealous about?"

He glanced at her with a knowing smile. "You think that I was interested in those women…"

"I do not!" she replied, glancing behind her and pulling out into the street. Just before she could begin a rant of how highly he must think of himself to come up with that assumption, different words forced their way from her lips. "Were you?"

"No."

His brown eyes fixed on her, burning into her cheek with their intensity.

Ryan had only loved two women in his life, and he wanted to tell her this again. He wanted to tell her that the night that Joanna came to see him in London that Meg was the woman he was in love with. Though it had taken many years, he had finally gotten over his childhood sweetheart, but felt compelled to spend her last days with her. And though he had ended things abruptly, unexplainedly with Meg - which he never forgave himself for - he was determined to spend the rest of his days making it up to her.

He wanted to tell her, but he couldn't; he knew that she wouldn't believe him. Most of all, Ryan was painfully aware that Meg's trust was something that was going to have to be earned.

"I don't have an interest in any other women, Meg." He said it simply, matter-of-fact.

There was a blaring silence that filled the interior of Meg's vehicle. It was like a gaping hole overwrought with bitterness, loss, and ache.

"Ryan," she began, fighting back the tears as she drove. "I haven't forgiven you."

He didn't respond right away, but she could see the pain in his eyes. "I know."

She was tired of feeling so many emotions all the time. Seeing him every day like this had left her out of sorts. She hated dreading how she was going to feel when she saw him. She hated wondering if she had really chased him away. She hated the feeling, most of all that he was going to disappear from her life again.

"Meg," he began softly. "I know that this is hard for you. It's hard for me, too. This is my fault. I should not have put any expectations on you. I was wrong for sending you my poems, for thinking that we could just pick up where we left off- or that you would want to…"

She remained very quiet, her eyes darting to the billboards on the side of the road as he spoke.

"Do you think that we could just start over again?" he asked. "No expectations, no games, no silly flirtations. You could just be you and I'll just be me?"

A laugh nearly escaped her lips. "You mean like friends? You think _we_ could be friends?"

"Yes, I think so."

Meg looked at him intently then, trying to gauge his seriousness. He simply gazed back at her casually, but behind that innocent expression she knew that it meant far more to him than he was letting on. The idea of letting go of the angst suddenly was very appealing to her.

"Can I still punish you?" she asked, cracking a smile.

He nodded. "Of course."

"You've got yourself a deal."

* * *

A/N: As always, waiting to hear what you think!


	61. Perfect?

A/N: My humble thanks to those who are _still _with me! And to those who reviewed, here are some virtual fresh out of the oven brownies filled with caramel...

**Perfect?**

_The Next Day…_

Erik felt his blood begin to boil beneath his skin.

This man, this stranger had taken to the stage with the confidence of a lion. Dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt that buttoned partway up to his otherwise exposed chest, he was the image of perfection; tall, muscular, and with slicked back dark hair, the man managed effortlessly to steal the attention of every female in the company, including Christine.

As much as Erik wanted to kick him out on his arrogant behind, he could not argue with the raw need in the tenor's voice as he sang, or the longing beheld in those piercing green eyes, or the emotion mirrored in his every action.

He should have hired him on the spot; here before him, at long last they had the perfect Don Juan. But as Christine sat beside Erik with her eyes somewhat glazed over while she watched the man on stage, the former opera ghost was instead tempted to take the man by the throat and strangle the life out of him…

"Isn't he wonderful, Erik?" Christine gushed, clapping her small hands together. "Ricardo's perfect! Just like Meg said."

Erik wasn't sure whether to curse Meg or thank her as he continued to seethe. He only glanced sideways at his wife, purposely keeping his expression blank.

Nudging him with her elbow, Christine widened her eyes in exasperation. "82 auditions, Erik! 82! None of the others were good enough! Now, here we have Ricardo, an actor and singer from Spain who is not only perfect, but willing to travel if we move the company to London."

"He's not…perfect," Erik replied in a small voice, knowing that she was right, but still unwilling to admit it.

At that moment, Christine burst out of her chair. "That's _it_!" she growled. "I am not going to let you waste any more time!" She turned her attention to the man on the stage who simply stared back at her with gleaming white teeth. "Ricardo? When can you start?"

"Christine?!" Erik objected, but was quickly faced with the open palm of his wife's hand.

"Bup bup!" she silenced and looked to Ricardo expectantly.

A pleased smile lit up Ricardo's handsome features. "Si, I uh..get theengs from my home. I uh…stardt Mohnday."

"Perfect!" Christine replied, clapping her hands together. It was Thursday and with Erik and Christine making a business trip to London this weekend, they could all start fresh at the beginning of the week. "See you Monday, then, Ricardo, and thank you for coming."

Sulking, Erik watched as his new Don Juan departed the stage victoriously high fiving the others as he walked off. Ricardo had barely met these people, yet in a short time had gained complete acceptance from his fellow actors.

Christine fell back into her seat, which to her dismay, caused the whole row of chairs to squeak. Nevertheless, she looked to her husband, wearing a satisfied smile. "Did you hear that, Erik? Si! Ricarrrdo can stardt Mohnday!" she told him, rolling her r's for effect. She sighed again, glancing at the time on her watch. "Don't you just love his accent? Isn't he perfect?" she gushed.

Without waiting to hear her beloved's response - which would undoubtedly be negative - she rose to her feet again. Before their new Don Juan left, Christine wanted to make sure to get the measurements for his costumes. She leaned down and planted a kiss on Erik's cheek and made her way backstage.

Folding his arms, Erik watched as his wife disappeared from his sight. He wondered just when _she_ had become the boss. "Mohnday," Erik mimicked to himself. "Don't you just **love** his accent?" he imitated sarcastically, raising his tone to a higher pitch. "Bleck!"

* * *

A/N: Sorry to interrupt here- The above audition is nothing to worry about- only a precursor to chapter 32- "Don Juan Triumphant".

* * *

"Okay," Ryan said, scanning the sheet of paper on the table before him. "So, that's no cologne, no singing, no flirting…"

"No tank tops," Meg added, nibbling on a blueberry muffin. She paced the floor of her apartment, deep in thought.

"No tank tops," he repeated, adding that to his list.

"No poems or love notes…"

"Of course," he replied, adding her obvious requests to his ever lengthening list of things he was forbidden from doing…or wearing around her. "No more muffins?" he teased gently.

Meg stopped and turned to him. "Yes to muffins. You should _always_ bring muffins," she informed him. He was the male version of Betty Crocker, and she had forgotten how delightfully tasty Ryan's pastries had been.

He looked up at her then, as she had fallen silent. "Is that all?"

"For now…" she told him. "Keep the list handy, though, just in case." Now that they were friends, Meg had found it absolutely necessary to establish the proper boundaries.

"Oh wait, and don't use so much hair gel," she told him with a frown, eyeing his chestnut locks that were, as usual, combed in place.

With a look of surprise he asked, "So, now my hair gel offends you?"

"No." Meg moved to sit in the chair next to him at the table. "You just use too much of it," she told him critically. "Your hair looks too stiff."

"Well, I suppose that we can't all be as perfect as you," he retorted, with a raised eyebrow.

Meg's mouth fell open. She knew that she was far from being perfect…Just ask Erik, she thought…or David… "Oh, shut up!"

"No," he said back, a smile playing at his lips. "You shut up!"

She elbowed him in his gut. "No, you shut up!"

"No, you…"

The phone rang, disrupting their session, and Meg rose to retrieve the cordless phone. Upon recognizing the number on her caller id, she was quick to answer.

"Hi, Christine!" she greeted. Meg had so much she wanted to tell her best friend, although with Ryan staring back at her, she knew it was going to have to wait until later.

"Hi, Meg! Guess what? We hired Ricardo! He is our new Don Juan!"

"That's great!" she squealed into the phone. "Ricardo's perfect, isn't he?"

"Just like you said he would be."

"Good, I'm so happy for you. And how does Erik feel about Ricky? He hates him, doesn't he?" Meg asked knowingly.

"Girl, you don't even know…"

Meg let out a giggle. "I can imagine."

"I have to go," Christine's voice said on the other end of the line. "But, I'll call you tomorrow." She paused for a moment. "Actually," she amended, "maybe next week would be better. We'll be in London this weekend."

For some reason, the mention of London again did not have quite the sting it had had the day before. She wondered if she would always associate London as the place where Ryan had broken her heart. It seemed like so long ago, and yet here he was again, now at her dining room table unzipping his laptop bag and setting up his portable computer. "Let me know how that goes," Meg told her.

The two young women said their goodbyes, and after grabbing two bottles of water from her refrigerator, Meg joined Ryan at the table, listening as the tune from his laptop sounded, signaling the start up. Resuming her seat by his side, she noticed that he was unusually quiet. His expression appeared suddenly uneasy, and the lightness of the mood had disappeared.

Absently she watched as the laptop screen changed from black to blue, and Ryan quickly typed in a password, guarding the keys cautiously with his long fingers. Quietly, he waited as the home screen appeared, and Meg noticed how his lips were now set in a line, and the strong set of his jaw was clenched.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked carefully.

"Nope," he responded, moving the cursor with a single fingertip to access his documents.

"Oh. It's just that you're quiet all of a sudden."

He still said nothing as his eyes scanned the long list of options.

She turned her gaze from his face and back to the screen before them, watching as he clicked on their song file. The page loaded instantly, and Meg was impressed to see that he had added more to it, but before she could get to the second verse, his voice interrupted.

"Who's Ricardo?"

If Meg hadn't known better, she would've sworn that there was a distinct tone of jealousy to his query.

"He's just a friend…from Spain. I recommended him to audition for Erik and Christine's opera."

"Oh."

He seemed satisfied with her response, and Meg resumed her reading when Ryan interrupted again.

"So, he was _perfect_, huh?" he asked, trying to hide the bitterness in his tone.

Meg could not control the smile that broke out on her lips. She was enjoying this way too much. He was jealous - even though he had no right to be… However, in the best interests of their friendship, she decided to let him off the hook. "Ricardo is perfect as a performer, not as a person," she clarified. "Besides I've never known anyone as perfect as you."

At this, Ryan laughed out loud. "I am not perfect! People used to think I was gay, remember?"

"Right," Meg said, smiling, feeling relieved that the mood had lifted. "That's my point."

Ryan shook his head. "No. I am definitely _not_ perfect."

Leaning her elbow on the table, Meg turned her full attention to the man before her, gazing into those warm chocolate brown eyes. "Well, you did break my heart," she said lightly, saying it as though it had not mattered. "But, other than that, tell me, Ryan. You can cook, bake, sew, write, sing, and perform...What is _not_ perfect about you?"

Inwardly he sighed. He had broken her heart, and leaving Meg had nearly killed him. He was weak…_there_ was a flaw…_a big one_. His childhood sweetheart had come back with a dying wish, and Ryan had not been strong enough to tell the woman that he had known for over twenty years that he was in love with someone else. "Lots of things…"

"Tell me one."

_I am jealous_. Ryan considered telling her that, but decided against it. Somewhere deep down inside, an ugly gnawing ate at him with just the idea that Meg was spending time with another man. Hesitantly, he considered his private list of flaws. "I have an ingrown toenail."

Meg rolled her eyes, and Ryan could see that she was not impressed.

"Fine. Promise you won't laugh?"

With a bright smile, she crossed her heart with her fingers, and held her other set of crossed fingers behind her back… "I promise. I won't laugh."

Ryan looked at her hesitantly, still entranced by the way her blue eyes glittered. "I…have an intense fear of clowns," he admitted with furrowed brows, shaking in his seat at the very thought of it.

Meg bit her lip to keep the smile from forming. "Clowns?"

"Yes, they freak me out! They've given me nightmares since I was a kid."

"Okay, so if you stay away from birthday parties and circuses you should be fine," she replied, looking expectantly at him. "So, let's see, we've got ingrown toenails, a fear of clowns, what else?"

"You only said to name one," he told her, but could tell by the look on her face that she was not going to give up so easily. "I'm a slob?"

"I already knew that. No, Ryan, you have to give me something else."

Ryan inhaled a deep breath. "Okay, I'm going to tell you something most people don't know about me."

With a nod, she gestured for him to continue.

"I have…uh…I _had_ a stuttering problem." He could see by the way her eyebrows rose that she was taken by surprise. "When I was a kid, I used to stutter…a lot. I could barely get through two or three sentences. My mom and dad put me into performing arts, and with speech therapy and confidence building I overcame it."

"See, that wasn't so bad," she told him, patting him on the shoulder for support. The more they talked the more comfortable she became around him. Things were becoming easier for her now, and she was not spending every moment worrying about him or his intentions.

"Well," he added. "Even now, when I become angry or nervous or even scared, the stutter will come back, but not nearly as bad as it was."

To Meg, he reminded her of a little boy; refusing to meet her eyes, his head was facing down, his shoulders slumped slightly forward.

"Thank you for telling me that, Ryan. I know that had to be difficult."

He nodded, lifting his eyes to meet hers. Her blue eyes offered warmth and understanding, and she didn't hate him anymore; that was important to him. For a moment there he found himself awestruck by her beauty; the way the gentle curve played at her lips, the sparkle of her eyes, and the shine of her silky blond hair. He knew he shouldn't have said it, but he could not stop the words from leaving his lips. "You are the one who is perfect." Ryan was grateful, at least, that he kept his hand on the keyboard instead of setting it on the tempting softness of her cheek.

"I'm not perfect, Ryan," she told him sadly. "I fall in love too fast; I don't even give myself room to breathe."

With a smile, he gazed into her eyes. "Giving your heart is not a flaw," he told her softly.

"Giving it to the wrong person over and over is."

That hurt. He realized that she was not trying to be angry or hurtful; she was only telling the truth from her perspective. Drawing a deep breath, he kept his tone positive. "Nobody's perfect."

Nodding her head, she agreed. "You're right. I've done my share of bad things. When I get angry- watch out!"

He smiled a dazzling smile that melted her heart.

_Was that a warning? _Somehow he felt grateful for her sharing that piece of insight. "So, I've heard."

Meg's jaw dropped. "_What _have you heard?"

"I heard about a certain monkey and a perfume bottle," he told her gently.

"David!" Meg hissed, wishing at that moment that she could pummel her agent's head into the table.

"He didn't _mean_ to tell me that. It was when I first came to California. He was the only person I knew. It was very late and we were very drunk. He probably doesn't even remember saying it."

"But you remember," she replied, still horrified at the thought of her deepest secrets now made public to him.

"My mom once hit my dad in the head with a baseball bat."

Meg gasped in surprise.

Ryan continued, "My sisters have thrown all manner of objects at me; anything from soft things like teddy bears and pillows to really painful objects like pointy earrings, picture frames, books, and makeup bottles…anything within reach…"

"What did you do to deserve _that_?" she asked, laughing and happy now that she was not the only female to take her wrath out on a man with her talent for pitching.

"Out of five children, I was the only boy. And I wasn't always very nice. I was a terrible practical joker."

He didn't say any more about it, and now Meg was very curious about what kind of boy this handsome man used to be.

Meg's cell phone rang, and by the familiar ring tone, she knew exactly who it was.

"Hello, David," she greeted. She could hear wind in the background and guessed that he was out and about. "Yes, I'm sitting down." She glanced nervously to Ryan beside her.

Ryan waited patiently, watching as her blue eyes glittered. She stood up from the chair, her mouth agape, listening to the news from the receiver.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed, turning her excited gaze now to Ryan. "Oh my God," she said again, with a squeal.

"What?" Ryan asked, knowing that this had to be good news.

"All right. Bye and thank you, David!" she told him, promptly flipping her cell phone shut.

"So, what is it?"

She was bubbling over with excitement. Fanning herself, she looked down to Ryan, happy that he was there to share this with her. Her heart was pounding so quickly that she could barely breathe. "I've been nominated…for Best New Artist…for the MTV Video Music Awards."

* * *

A/N: As always, I would love to hear from you... :)


	62. No Joke

**No Joke**

They had continued meeting every morning to work, until gradually the mornings turned into the late afternoons. The week to follow – the third week - would be, to Meg's delight, the last week she would be performing with the ensemble of other artists and groups of up and coming bands. With the last leg of their extended concert tour coming to an end in Los Angeles, she would have more time to focus on her new album. There were numerous details besides the actual songwriting, the rehearsals, the recordings, the videos, the photo shoots…She only needed to get through that last week, and her evenings would be free, at last.

Meanwhile, Ryan had become a steady fixture in her life. He was there to run with her first thing in the morning, preparing lunch for the two of them in the afternoon, and then driving her to and from her performances. Often he would wait and watch in the wings as she sparkled under the bright lights onstage. His first instincts about the blonde beauty had been correct, as he had told her back in London. She was going to be famous, and when it finally happened, he wanted to be right there beside her.

All in all, Ryan and Meg proved to be a dynamic team. By the end of their second week, they had written six songs and the accompanying music. After turning in their progress to Capitol Records, they were happy to learn that five out of the six would be used in her next album. Coming soon was Meg's awards show, which was a few short weeks away. Not only was it a great honor just to be nominated, but the exposure would be sure to further boost her career.

That morning, though, Meg was livid, shuffling through her cupboards and inspecting jars, her canister of coffee, and her salt and pepper shakers. It was the second time in two weeks, and though they had merely been annoyances up until that time, Meg had decided that she had had about enough; Ryan's practical jokes had proved to be too much for her.

Fuming, she heard the door creak as he entered.

"Honey, I'm home," he called out jokingly with a bright smile. In one hand, he held two cups of coffee in a carrier, gripping a magazine in between two fingers, and with his black leather laptop bag, he made his way to greet her in the kitchen.

Supremely irritated, she closed her eyes tight and turned to him. "That was not funny, Ryan." Opening her eyes, she balled her fist and held it up to him threateningly.

Setting down the coffee on the counter, his expression was that of an innocent boy being wrongly accused. "What?"

"The fake rat in the linen closet," she got out through clenched teeth.

Unfazed, he turned away from her and set down his bag and the magazine on her dining room table. His lips broke out into a crooked smile. "I only wish I could have seen your face."

Following behind him, she extended her arm back as far as she could, swinging a punch at the back of his shoulder, delivering a heavy blow, even harder than she expected. "That wasn't funny!"

"Ow!" He rubbed the sore spot on his right shoulder and turned to meet her angry gaze.

"And it wasn't funny either when you switched the salt with the sugar!"

"Sorry," he apologized with big brown eyes.

She shook her head in exasperation. "In London, we were together for over a month and you never pulled pranks on me."

Ryan shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I didn't feel comfortable enough."

_And now he did…_ Meg had not given it a lot of thought before, but now she recalled how there was an anonymous prankster at the theatre. Too many times costumes would be misplaced, plastic cockroaches would end up in dressing rooms, and restrooms would run out of toilet paper…

"That was you!" she spat. "During _Wicked_, you were the prankster!" Promptly, she grabbed his laptop bag from the table, but he tried to remove it from her iron grasp. "Let go! I need to inspect it. You're not putting any plastic insects, or leaving fake vomit here in this apartment!"

He let go finally, holding his hands up and allowing her to search the leather case, and as he predicted she found nothing except for his portable computer, his file folder, cell phone, and two chargers.

Unsatisfied that she had come up empty-handed, she commanded him to raise his hands and proceeded to frisk him. Ryan kept his expression blank so as to not show how much he was enjoying this treatment. Then she instructed him to remove his shoes, and after confirming with a visual search that there was nothing, she was happy.

She stood before him like Wonder Woman, with hands on hips and feet apart. "Where's the list, Ryan?"

Stepping back into his shoes, he gaped at her. They'd already worked together for three weeks, and he had hoped that they were past "The List". "I'll stop, I promise!"

She held out her hand insistently. "The list," she repeated sternly.

Grudgingly, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and unfolded the sheet of notebook paper - the dreaded list that had been created weeks ago. As promised, she had added little things to it now and then and insisted that he still carry it around. In her eyes it was as good as a contract, and failure to comply meant that would be the end of their working relationship.

After eyeing the listed items, he looked back up at her imploringly. "Please, Meg. Give me another chance. I'll be good."

"No more pranks. WRITE it down!"

With a smile, she watched as he added her words to the sheet of wrinkled paper, and solemnly returned to it to its home inside his wallet. Her attention was turned then to the tabloid on her table. "Why did you bring that?" she asked in disgust. She abhorred the paparazzi, even though she was well aware that out of all the many artists and celebrities she had been the lesser target.

Ryan grinned and his mouth revealed perfect white teeth. "You're going to love this…or hate this," he amended, grabbing the gossip magazine and flipping to the correct page. "It's us."

Meg gasped as he showed it to her. The headline itself made her blood boil.

_Has Marguerite found new love?_

Although Ryan's face could not clearly be seen, half of the page showed pictures of the two jogging, walking to her car, and entering her apartment building. And, on the very bottom was a very unflattering photo of the pop singer showing Ryan her middle finger. The caption beneath read: _A lover's quarrel._

For a moment, it was silent, and Ryan tried to measure her expression which ranged from horror to humor.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, curious by her reaction.

Her eyes lit up and she pointed to the photo of the now infamous middle finger. "I think I'm going to frame this one."

* * *

Later that night, Ryan had dropped her off at home after her performance, and as she dressed for bed, she found herself to be unusually energized. It was past midnight, and as the minutes ticked on, she lay there, willing her mind and body to shut down, but to no avail. Eventually, after sighing at the progressing time on the clock, Meg rose and heated up a cup of milk in her microwave. Next, with the warmth of the mug heating her fingers, she proceeded to her living room and sat on her couch. She took a sip of the warm liquid and reached for the remote for the television, but as she pressed the power button, the blaring sound – loud enough to wake the neighbors - startled her, making her jump, and she spilled her drink on the front of her pajamas and onto her beige carpet.

That was it for her.

Emitting a variety of curses, she turned the volume way down and shut off the television. Then, furiously, she rose and retrieved some towels to wipe up the mess, cursing Ryan with every step. No doubt _he_ was responsible- she hardly watched television, and the week before he had turned on the TV to see the weather report- or so he claimed. And Meg was convinced that somehow in his childish mind, he thought it would be humorous to leave the volume on full blast for her.

And at one o'clock in the morning as she scrubbed the rapidly drying liquid from the Berber carpeting, Meg was already plotting her revenge.

Later that afternoon, Ryan was closing up his laptop when Meg had ventured curiously to him.

"Why do you always hide your password from me?" she asked.

"Because it's private," he answered simply, tucking it into his leather case.

"That's a mistake," she told him. "I don't have the information on my laptop, and what if I need access?"

He was relentless. "I'll e-mail you the documents."

Somehow that was not good enough for Meg. "Please tell me the password, Ryan. Please?" she asked him, her lips curled into a pout.

His brown eyes met hers seriously. "No."

She was willing to accept his answer…for now, but each and everyday for the next few days, she just happened to be crossing behind him or within a reasonable distance as he keyed his password, and with each day, that secret code of his became just a bit more accessible.

Finally, after coaxing him into retrieving her mail from the office, she had her opportunity. The mailman was likely to just be arriving within the next few minutes, but Ryan didn't know that…

Her hands moved quickly removing his laptop from his leather case, pressing the power button, and as she muttered to the small computer to hurry up, she contemplated the password when finally the screen appeared with the white horizontal box. From what she had gathered, it was either Cooke- his last name, or Cookie. The first option turned out to be the correct one, and the machine quickly progressed to its welcome page.

Oh, she thought excitedly, accessing the internet and rapidly finding what she was in search of. Revenge is sweet!

* * *

Not surprisingly, she slept well that night, and it had been her final performance with that touring group. She awoke the next morning well-rested; the birds were chirping, and the warm rays from the ever-present California sun were streaming through her window. And as she hopped out of bed to get ready for Ryan's arrival, she had a big smile on her face. Whether he had seen her little surprise or not yet, she had not known, but, she thought, as she gently scrubbed her teeth with the toothbrush, she would soon find out.

She was dumping the coffee grounds from her coffeemaker into the trash when she heard the familiar creak of her door, and promptly she turned to face him to gauge his expression, but to her surprise, he only entered with his usual pleasant greeting and happy smile, laptop bag grasped in one hand, and a carrier with two cups of coffee in the other. Dangling from his thumb and forefinger, undoubtedly, was a brown paper bag of his home-baked treats.

"So," she began, removing her coffee from the carrier he was holding. "Did you get any work done last night?" she prompted.

"No," he replied, setting down the laptop case and the sack of treats. "I had left my laptop in my car and watched TV instead."

TV, she thought angrily, but tried to keep her tone normal. "Oh."

Now, she waited anxiously as he gingerly pulled a banana nut muffin from the bag and handed one to her. He sat at the table then, took a sip of his coffee, and grasped another muffin. Impatiently, she watched as he tore a piece from the muffin and popped it into his mouth.

"So, should we get started?" she asked, standing at his side and trying not to hover. _Turn on the laptop already!_

He took another bite of his muffin, and didn't bother to finish chewing before he spoke. "You're eager this morning," he observed. "Have some of your muffin. It's fresh."

"Thank you." She took the seat beside him and picked small pieces from the pastry. "Mmmm…it's really good, Ryan," she told him, as always, although she could not quite enjoy the taste because it was taking him forever to open up his god-forsaken laptop. Meg watched him expectantly as he methodically took a bite, took a sip of his coffee, took another bite, another sip, another bite, another sip…and when the treat was gone, and just when she thought he was finally going to reach for the leather case, he stretched out his arms instead and headed to her restroom.

_For God's sake!_

She could not just sit there and wait. It was likely to drive her insane, so deciding against opening the laptop herself, she rose and cleaned some crumbs and trash from the table. When he reappeared a few minutes later, she hummed, opening her refrigerator door and poked around for nothing in particular. As she rearranged the eggs into a nice neat row on the shelf, she heard the familiar music sound from the laptop, and her heart gave a quick start. Trying to be casual, she edged herself toward the dining room, keeping her eyes on the kitchen counters and then moved over to her address book over by the telephone. Her fingers flipped through the worn pages, and then unable to help herself, she glanced his way. He was keying in his password, and Meg held her breath in anticipation, no longer able to avert her eyes.

After a few seconds, the welcome screen appeared before him, and a shout that was far from masculine erupted from his mouth, more of a shrill scream. He jumped up out of his chair, closing his eyes at the sight and slammed shut the laptop.

Chuckling, Meg jumped up and down, clapping in victory. Indeed, it had worked like a charm, but once her laughter had subsided, she noticed that he was still standing there, his body trembling, and the warm tan of his face had adopted a gruesome pallor.

"Ryan?" she asked, approaching him. "Are you all right?"

He blinked over and over as though he was in shock. "W…w…w…w…why…why…why…d…d…did…d…d…" he began, his lips stretching each syllable exaggeratedly as he spoke and with all of his might trying to force the words out. "Y…y…you…d…do… th…th…that?"

Meg's eyes widened with horror. She certainly had not expected such a reaction; she wondered if he could possibly be joking, but from the scowl on his face, she could see he was not. "I…I…" she stammered, "It was a joke, Ryan. I was getting you back for all the pranks…"

"Y…y…you p…p…put a c…c…c…c…c…c…c…"

"Clown," she said for him. It appeared it was difficult for him to even say the word.

"As…m…m…my w….w…wall…pa…per? A…aff…ter…I…t…told…d you I w…was a…afraid of…f…them?"

"I thought you were kidding when you said that," she told him lamely.

In fury, he shook his head and closed his eyes. "T…t…take…i…it…off…f," he told her, pointing to his laptop and turning to face the opposite direction. "It's…it's…e…evil."

She did not question it and moved to his computer, flipping it back open, but then the offending image appeared before her. For a moment she paused and turned to him. "It's Ronald McDonald," she appealed.

"S…scary! T…take it…o…ff."

Already moving the cursor to the start menu, she readjusted the wallpaper to restore the former picture: a blue sky with billowy white clouds. "Okay. It's off. Back to normal. See?"

He hesitated before turning back around as though he was unsure whether he could trust her, but angled his body slightly, and peered cautiously over his shoulder. Breathing a sigh of relief, he faced the screen once more, but then the scowl quickly dominated his handsome features.

"F…" he paused, frustrated and embarrassed by his impediment, "First," he got out, willing his lips to form the words correctly. "You...you... break into my laptop with my password, after I t...told you it was private, and then you download the d...d...devil's picture?"

"I…I'm sorry, Ryan. I had no idea it would affect you this way."

Ryan merely shook his head. He had no words for the violation that she had just committed. "I've gotta go. I can't be here right now," he stated, closing the laptop abruptly and stuffing it into the case.

"Ryan? No, wait!" Tears formed in her eyes, and she set her hand on his shoulder to stop him, but he jerked it away with cold force. "Don't go. Please?"

He was so infuriated that his heart was pounding hard in his chest. He could not remember the last time he had felt so filled with fury. Slamming the door behind him as he left, he only made it a few steps, and at once was sure he could hear the faint sounds of her weeping.

Somehow the heart wrenching whimper of her sobs had melted his anger, and he could not force his feet forward another step. It had truly been his intention to leave and cool down and then return, but whether it was her fault or not, he could not leave things as they were. Ryan closed his eyes once again and counted slowly to ten. He breathed inward, letting the air fill his lungs, then exhaled, and turned back to the door.

She stood there in her dining room, with her face in her hands, crying and miserable. Ryan rapped on the door to get her attention. Meg must not have heard him enter, and now as the woman he loved wept tears of shame, Ryan could not bear it. He would sooner stab himself fifty times than see her upset like this- because of him.

Pasting a smile onto his face, he tapped her on the shoulder. "Hey, you have to admit that was a pretty good performance."

Meg turned to face him then, finding no traces of anger left in his face. "That was a performance? You don't hate me?"

As he looked into those fathomless blue eyes now tinged with red, he felt a heavy lump forming in his throat. For months, his heart had ached endlessly for her; it ached for her now. He set down his black leather case on the floor. "Meg, I could never hate you."

Her arms wrapped around him instinctively, and when she spoke, every syllable was filled with relief. "So, you aren't afraid of clowns?"

Holding her in his arms felt like heaven, and his hand quickly sought the golden locks of her hair, moving some unruly wisps from the moistness of her cheek. "Well, I wouldn't say that."

"Oh," she replied, her eyes turning downward with regret. "I'm sorry, Ryan. I promise you I won't do anything like that again. And I'm sorry about your password. You deserve your privacy- you should change it."

He smiled down at her, still stroking her hair. "How about we just agree not to pull any more jokes on each other?"

She looked up again and found that his brown eyes suddenly were a warm shade of caramel, and Meg's heart was thumping at the closeness of their two bodies. It felt so right, and every cell in her body craved this man - his gentle touch, his adoring smile, the strength of his arms, the love in his kiss… "Agreed," she uttered, finding her knees weak suddenly as their eyes locked.

Ryan longed to kiss her sweet lips; his body screamed out its demand to be closer to her…and closer. She looked like a delicate flower and to Ryan, she was. He could breathe in that irresistible floral scent of her hair, and holding her like this, he could die a happy man, but as she began to lean her face toward his slowly, so achingly slow, it took every ounce of strength he could conjure as he gently pulled away from her. He wanted her more than anything, but not as a result of a heated argument, but out of the pure love they once shared.

She looked puzzled as he set his laptop bag back on her table and unzipped it. He gave her another of his devastating smiles, and Meg's heart sunk when he spoke.

He gave the blonde angel a wink. "Let's get to work."

* * *

A/N: Thanks, as always to my reviewers and those of you who are still with me! Now, I am waiting with baited breath...please review :)


	63. Preparation

A/N: Thanks you all, for bearing with me. It seems that this site had some kind of technical glitch that wouldn't allow me to access my account. Thanks also to my reviewers, you really inspire to me to keep writing despite the fact that I've had my nose stuck in Stephenie Meyer's _Twilight_ series for the last few weeks (which is the book equivalent to crack! I'm on the fourth book now-_Breaking Dawn_- phew!) and have not felt much like writing! Now that I got that rant out of my system, hope you enjoy- this chappie's a long one...

**Preparation**

It was driving Ryan insane. There were just days left until the MTV music awards and only one thing was certain: Meg, who had been nominated as Best New Artist, was definitely attending. But, that was it. No preparations had been made, rehearsal times were vague, and she had not even looked for a dress…but worst of all, there was no mention if she would be attending this event alone…or not…

From past conversations, Ryan was aware that David had stepped in. Although the former Parisian had been settled in California for nearly eighteen months, she had not formed many friendships, and so when the occasion called for her presence, such as a party or premiere, David, her agent and ex-boyfriend, assumed the role as her date. Ryan wondered now, this time, since there had been no discussion about it, if that was the case.

Together they were friends and an extraordinary team, but when it came to anything beyond business, there was awkwardness, as big as though it were its own entity.

Determined to gain her trust, Ryan remained disciplined. He checked his actions and words carefully. Being close to her everyday and knowing that he could not hold her was torture for him, but, he thought bitterly, the torture would have been far worse being apart.

Now and then he dropped a few subtle hints to "remind" her of the upcoming event. He mentioned wanting to record the event on his television. He scanned the internet and periodicals for information as to who the other nominees were, and even pored through photos of former winners to study their attire. Ryan felt confident that he was more excited about it than she was…at least that was the way it appeared. Meg hardly mentioned the show at all, except for when she'd first been nominated, and when it came to anything outside of their routine, she seemed hesitant or almost unwilling to speak about it. Her replies had always been short and she seemed to have a knack for changing the subject, usually turning back to the current song they were working on. Even now, as she sat at the dining room table, plinking experimental notes on his portable keyboard, Ryan could feel his frustration growing.

"Meg?" he spoke up, breaking her concentration. "You are aware that two nights from now, you will be attending the awards show, right?"

Meg refused to meet his eyes and simply nodded. "Right."

"Are you ready?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, I have to make an appointment to get my hair done, but as far as I know the limo will be here at six o' clock."

Impatiently, he tapped his fingers. He hated to think that she was going into this unprepared- whether or not he was going to go, he still wanted her to be ready. "Do you have something to wear?"

"I think so. I have a few dresses," she told him, her fingers paused above the keyboard.

"In two nights, _you_ could be standing on stage, with _all_ of America watching as you accept an award at the MTV music awards. Do you have a dress for _that_?"

In truth, Meg had convinced herself that she had little chance of winning. For some reason the whole affair did not even seem real to her. It was too much to ask for just to be nominated, but now as Ryan had planted a little seed of excitement in her, she looked at him sheepishly. "Let's go shopping."

* * *

"Well, hello. Look what we have here: It's Rob Lowe meets David Beckham. That _man_ is a SINFUL kind of hot!"

Meg narrowed her eyes at the source of that silky voice. The leggy brunette stood there, her mouth practically drooling as Meg focused her gaze on the target of the woman's lustful admiration. _Ryan._ Unsuspecting and innocent, he sifted through a rack of gowns at the back of the dress store, and Meg was certain she did not like the way this woman was eyeing him.

"So, he's your lyricist? No kidding?" the woman inquired with a smile, finally meeting Meg's eyes.

It was unfortunate seeing her there, as Meg could not stand her. Angela Jones, a fellow artist who was now trying to break into motion pictures, was a triple threat: tall, beautiful, with legs that stretched all the way up to her neck. She was also one of those catty Hollywood types who David had warned Meg to stay far away from. And, Meg thought, it would not do for the saucy brunette across from her, now watching Ryan with hungry eyes, to make contact with him. _It would simply not do…_

"No kidding," Meg replied, miffed, wanting nothing more than to take Ryan by the hand and leave the store as quickly as possible. "We make beautiful music together." Take that any way you want, she thought with a smug smile. Hopefully now she would just go away…

Recognition lit up Angela's green eyes and a grin spread from ear to ear. "I knew it! You two are a thing! I just knew it had to be him from the pictures." She held her hands up dramatically as if to set the scene. "Marguerite finds new love."

Meg blinked, feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks, mentally cursing that blasted tabloid for the lies that it printed. "Ryan and I are _not_ a thing," she corrected. For some reason, she felt obligated to speak the truth, even if it did not really matter to whom she was speaking it. "We are just friends."

This response not only surprised the vivacious female, but also multiplied her interest. "Really?" she purred, extending her gaze back to him once again. Angela angled her body toward his direction. "Well, maybe I'll just go talk to…"

"He's gay," Meg blurted out, for a reason she was not even sure of. It was a horrible thing to say about him, but at that moment she was desperate for any weapon that might fend the vampiress off.

Angela's hand rose in a flash, covering her mouth. "No!"

"Yes," Meg affirmed, nodding her head solemnly. It didn't hurt her case, either - the way Ryan was now fingering the fabric of a red silk dress and inspecting the hemlines.

"It's not fair! Why are all the good ones _gay_?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Meg noticed that with the hanger in one hand and the red garment hanging over his opposite forearm, he was now approaching. A nervous feeling nipped at her as she hoped that Ryan was not aware he was the subject of whom the two women were speaking. At once, she cleared her throat, hoping to send the signal to the other woman to change the subject.

"I hear that you are nominated for an award," Angela commented, impressed, though those wicked green eyes of hers followed Ryan as he joined them.

"That's right. The show is two days from now, and I'm still trying to find just the right thing to wear."

Ryan, who had just joined them, held up the red silky dress for her approval. "What do you think of this one?"

Her blue eyes appraised the dress as he placed it against her body. "I'm not sure about the color…"

In turn, Ryan directed his gaze at Meg's female companion and extended a hand to her. "Hi, I'm Ryan."

Meg frowned, taking the dress from his grasp. She was hoping to skip the introductions.

Angela took his hand in hers. "I'm Angela. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ryan," she purred.

Meg was becoming very disgusted with the woman's purring.

"Marguerite tells me that you are her lyricist."

"Yes." Ryan smiled, looking back to Meg and noticing the way her lips were curling downward, although for what reason he did not know. "We make beautiful music together," he told Angela jokingly.

The brunette's green eyes widened and she laughed out loud. "So I hear. She already said that exact same thing. Did you two plan that?" she asked, pointing her index finger first to Meg and then to Ryan.

The two looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders simultaneously.

"Cute…_very _cute," Angela remarked wrinkling her little nose. "So, Ryan, are you accompanying Marguerite to the awards show?"

"Yes!" Meg responded emphatically. "Yes, he is." She was holding the dress unnecessarily tight against her body, her fingers practically clawing into the fabric with anxious fingernails.

Puzzled, Ryan looked to Meg. "I am," he said, but it sounded more like a question, earning an elbow dig from his blonde associate. He cleared his throat and then repeated, utterly pleased with this new development. "I am accompanying her."

To Meg's relief, a musical ring tone made its presence, and Angela quickly retrieved her cell phone from her oversized black purse. She took the call, excusing herself and then glanced at her watch, gaping at the hour. After saying her goodbye, she flipped her phone shut, and tossed it carelessly into the black hole that was her purse, and took Meg's hand in hers. "It was lovely seeing you, Marguerite," she cooed, leaning in toward her cheek and kissing the air inches away from it. "And you, Ryan, it was wonderful meeting you as well."

As the woman slinked away, Meg breathed an audible sigh of relief, and then turned to face Ryan.

But what she had not counted on was Angela's remark as her long, long legs led her to the front door with one last backward glance to Ryan. "Damn shame," she said out loud, shaking her head. "Why are all the good ones gay?" Heaving a sigh, she faced forward again and made her way outside.

Two pairs of eyes widened at that moment. Ryan's eyes widened in shock, and Meg's eyes widened in fear.

He was quiet for a moment and simply shook his head. "Meet me outside." Taking slow steps, so as not to catch up to Angela, he headed for the front door as well.

Without thinking, Meg stowed the dress back on the closest rack and followed him outside, cursing the long-legged devil woman with her every step.

When they were finally a good distance from the shop, Ryan turned to face Meg, who was carefully trying not to catch up to him…

"Did you…d…did you tell her I was gay?" Ryan asked, trying to control the anger that was threatening to take over his speech.

Wide eyed, she stared back at him with the guiltiest expression on her face that Ryan did not even need to hear her reply.

"Why, Meg? I left that reputation back in London!"

Meg gave the best excuse she could think of. "You don't have time for women, Ryan. We still have two songs left…"

"You could have told her I was too busy. You could have told her that I was married. Hell, you could have told her I was a drug addict! Of all the things you could have told her, why did you have to tell her _that_?"

She could see that he was not angry with her. It was worse, much worse. Hurt was laced in his beautiful brown eyes, and if she could bring herself to be honest with him, honest with herself about her feelings, then she could tell him the real reason for her lie. But now between them was a void the size of an ocean. It held all her fears, her insecurities, her uncertainties, and for some reason although Ryan's gentle warmth had tried to dissolve it, Meg still held back.

Ryan could not imagine why she would tell such a lie. Surely she had to know how this would affect him- even as a friend. Despite the humiliation he was feeling, he settled his gaze on the remorse obvious in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she told him quietly. "I wasn't thinking…"

He raised his hand to stop her. "Forget it. Let's just forget it. Just, please don't tell anyone else that. Agreed?"

Meg nodded, her head bobbing up and down exaggeratedly. She had to wonder how the man could be so forgiving all the time. "Agreed."

"Now, we still have to find you a dress," he told her lightly. "Which brings me to the other thing you told her."

Relieved, she stared up at his eyes in question. "What other thing?"

"About accompanying you to the awards show…" He felt uncomfortable as he said it.

"Oh, that…"

"Right. Do you want me to take you? Because I know David always takes you to things like these…"

"No," she replied, looking up into his vulnerable eyes as he continued to meet her gaze, but now with a disturbed, rather disappointed expression. "I mean, yes. I mean, no, David isn't taking me."

"Oh," he breathed hopefully. She had not really answered his question. "So, do you want me to take you?" he asked again, feeling rather foolish. Ryan felt like he was begging.

"Yes," she answered quickly, hopefully. Indeed, she had wanted for Ryan to attend as her date, but given the nature of their friendship, and her ever growing feelings for him, she had been torn about how to ask. They were still friends, weren't they? It was not really a date, after all. Was it? The question she had to ask herself, almost everyday now was: Did she want it to be? Deep inside she already knew the answer, but as her eyes lingered on the troubled expression on his handsome face, she was also left to wonder. Once they had reached their understanding weeks ago, all flirtations, advances, or even lingering looks had come to a halt. He could have kissed her that other day, but had decided against it. Could he have lost interest?

Uncertainly, she gave voice to one concern. "Do _you_ want to?"

"Of course." His voice sounded reassuring at least, and he turned his gaze forward to the pedestrians walking past. All of a sudden he was filled with doubt. "Unless you don't want me to…"

Meg put a hand on his arm, feeling an electrical charge as her skin touched his. Ignoring it, she faced him, stopping their stroll in their tracks. "Yes," she replied firmly. "I want you to accompany me. Now, is that settled?"

"Good." He smiled, and then faced forward again, continuing on their path.

"Good."

"Now, we seriously have to find you the perfect dress." He thought for a moment. "A sleek black dress with a jeweled halter top? Or baby blue with sequins to go with your eyes, maybe? Just you wait, Meg," he told her excitedly as they approached the entrance to another store. "Once you have that award, designers will be fashioning dresses for you!"

Meg, in turn giggled at the thought, her heart feeling light and carefree. She elbowed him then. "Ryan?"

"What?"

She pulled open the handle to the door, her lips cracking into a smile. "That sounded very gay."

* * *

_The next day_

"Let's hear it."

"It's not ready, Ryan," she told him, still sitting at the dining room table with her pencil firmly gripped between her fingers.

"Alright, then let's hear what you have," he prompted, sitting on the sofa.

Hesitantly, she rose from the chair and with paper in hand she took her place in front of the television. She cleared her throat and looked at Ryan's waiting face. His caramel eyes were focused, watching her every move, prompting chills to erupt from her body. Sometimes it was very difficult to be friends with this man. His kindness and patience were attractive qualities in themselves, but when he set his eyes upon her like that, she wanted to just run her fingers through the scruff of his face and…

"Meg? Hello?" Ryan waved, trying to snap her out of her self-imposed trance.

She took another breath, trying to steer her mind in the right direction. "Right." With a quick sweep of her hand, she picked up the television remote and pointed it to her mouth. Her eyes met the words on the paper. "First of all, I wanted to thank all the little people who I had to step on to get here…" She peeked up to see his expression, suppressing an oncoming fit of giggles.

He didn't look amused.

Simultaneously, her cell phone and home phone rang, startling the pair. Judging by the ring tone, it was Christine, and she hurriedly eyed the caller id; it was the producers from the awards show, likely calling to fill her in on rehearsal times. She looked to Ryan pleadingly and threw her cell phone to Ryan.

"Hello?" Christine replied, puzzled and wondering if she dialed the wrong number. It was a man's voice and she did not recognize it to be David's.

"Hi, Christine. You called the right number. Meg's busy on the other line right now," Ryan answered casually.

"Who is this?"

"Oh, it's Ryan. You remember me?"

Of course she remembered him. "Yes! Ryan! How are you?" she asked, surprised. What are you doing there, answering my best friend's phone, she wanted to ask.

"I'm fine. I guess Meg didn't mention to you that we work together."

"No," she replied. With all the changes going on with the production and locating a suitable home in London, things had been chaotic. In just a few short weeks she felt like she had missed so much in her friend's life. And now Ryan was there in her apartment…answering her phone? Had the whole world gone mad? "I've been busy and we haven't had a lot of time to talk."

"Did you hear that she's been nominated for an award?" he boasted proudly.

Christine's mouth dropped. "An award?!"

Meg had hung up the phone, scribbling the final bits of information on the notepad before her and hurried to retrieve the phone from Ryan, not giving him a chance to say anything more. "Hello, Christine."

"Oh my God, Meg! You've been nominated for an award?"

With a smile, Meg began to fill Christine in on the details. It had been a while since last they spoke, and, she thought to herself, it wasn't solely due to Christine's busy schedule.

"And Ryan? He's there? _Why_ is he at your house, Meg?" she asked suspiciously.

Gripping the cell phone tight to her ear, she realized that now was the time to move to someplace away from Ryan's hearing. In fact, he was the reason that she had neglected to call. Before Christine could say a word, she could already hear the disapproval in her voice. Promptly she moved to her bedroom and closed the door to have some privacy.

"Ryan was hired to work as my lyricist," she explained, "and it is convenient to meet here at my apartment." There was a distinct sigh from the other end of the line. "What?"

"Meg! Are you joking? Listen, Ryan is nice and all, but he not only broke your heart, but stomped on it. Have you forgotten?"

Meg's eyes darted in the direction of the door, hoping that Ryan was not listening. "Of course I have not forgotten. Besides, Christine, it's not like that. We're friends- that's it!" she insisted, plopping down onto her bed.

Christine rolled her eyes. "I think it's a very bad idea."

"So did I, at first. But we've been working together for five weeks- as friends- nothing more."

"Hmmm…"

"Christine! I know you're concerned but you really shouldn't be," she told her, wondering if she could believe her own words.

It was quiet for a moment and then Christine spoke up. "I believe you."

Holding the phone away from herself, Meg suddenly wondered if she was speaking to the same person. "You do?"

"Yes, because you are not the same person you were when you left London. You're stronger, more confident, and besides, you insisted you were never going to fall in love again."

Meg remembered those words; she remembered them too well. She hoped that she would not have to eat them. "Right," she agreed weakly.

"So you're safe."

"Yes, I'm safe."

"Good," Christine told her, breathing a sigh of relief.

There was a knock at the bedroom door, and Meg opened it to find Ryan standing there. "Just a minute, Christine." She was sure to cover the mouthpiece…

"I'd better go," Ryan informed her. "I also have to find something to wear, and I still have to e-mail our progress to Mr. Whitehall. I promised him I would do that by tonight."

Meg nodded. "All right," she told him, hating the fact that she did not want him to leave just yet.

"Get that speech done, okay?"

"Yes, I will," she promised.

He started to turn away, but then turned back to face her. "It's a big day tomorrow, Meg. If you need anything, call me. Anything," he repeated.

Her heart involuntarily swelled. "Thank you, Ryan…for everything."

"You got it," he told her with a wink. "See you tomorrow at 5:30."

"See you tomorrow." Still holding the phone to her ear, she leaned her head against the door frame, watching as he left. "I'm back," she announced, and as Christine caught her up on the happenings in London and the transition from Paris, Meg only half-listened. She had insisted that she was safe, but now with a piece of her having departed just moments before, she wondered if that was really true.

* * *

Reciting her speech out loud, Meg checked her makeup in the mirror and smoothed out the long length of her carefully arranged curls. She hoped that this time she had memorized it correctly, and she hoped that it sounded right. Avoiding the temptation to call him again, she adjusted the shimmering diamond pendant that dangled at her chest. The third time she called him she was so embarrassed that she hung up after the second ring. What was wrong with her, she wanted to know. Couldn't she make any decisions herself? Surely she did not need his opinion about every little thing! Exercising what little self control she had, she vowed not to disturb him for the rest of the day. Now, hours later, Ryan was due at her place any moment, and she could not keep still. Ever since she had slipped on her new dress, the nervous excitement hit her like a sudden storm. She backed away, observing the form-fitting dress in the mirror. The cerulean shade accented her eyes, as Ryan had suggested. The satin felt smooth against her skin, and though the dress plunged low into a v, with a sizable slit up to her thigh, she felt confident and stylish. Ryan would be very pleased, she thought, although she wondered why that it should matter. After all, she wasn't trying to impress _him_, _was she__?_ It was a disturbing thought, and yet she could not help but feel like Cinderella getting ready for the ball…and soon her prince would be here…

She practiced her speech over and over, so much so that the words no longer held meaning, and was now beginning to feel a little anxious. With few exceptions, Ryan was customarily prompt, if not early.

At that moment, she heard the ringing of the doorbell. Nervously, she tightened the post on the back of her earring and called out, "It's open!" Funny, she thought as she did not hear the door open. "I said it's open!" she called out again.

When there was no response, she headed for the door, wondering if Ryan had taken this as a literal date. Oh no, she wondered. What if he was standing there with his usual charming smile holding flowers for her? And then as she reached the doorknob she had a more frightening feeling. What if he wasn't? Butterflies wreaked havoc inside her belly as she opened the door, but to her surprise, the man dressed in the familiar black tuxedo was not Ryan.

"David!" she said, shocked. She was sure that David had known that Ryan was escorting her. She had told him, hadn't she? But, after sifting through her clouded memories, she finally became aware of the grave look on his face. "What's going on?"

"I'm here to take you to the awards show? You ready?"

Meg shook her head in confusion. "Yes. No. Wait. Where's Ryan?" She suddenly had a terrible feeling seep through her veins like poison.

"He asked me to take you."

"What?" she objected. "No, Ryan is supposed to take me."

David looked to her with sad eyes. "I'm afraid that's not possible. He's in the hospital right now. Ryan's been in an accident."

* * *

A/N: Stay tuned...and leave a review...please?


	64. The Event

**The Event**

_10 hours before…_

To Ryan none of them seemed quite right. Certainly all of the flowers were beautiful as they stared back at him radiantly in their various displays.

A smile came to his lips as the musical tone of his cell phone distracted him. "Hello, Meg." It was the second time today that she had called. For someone as naturally beautiful and talented as Meg, she was insecure, and Ryan did his best to reassure her. "Down," he said into the phone. "Wear your hair _down_. It's the MTV awards, not the Grammy's!"

He continued to browse the selection of flowers, fingering the soft petals as he spoke. Sounding impossibly embarrassed, she apologized for calling him and thanked him for his advice. After saying goodbye, he flipped the phone shut. He shook his head. She thought that she was bugging him, and she could not be more wrong.

Orchids…lilies…daisies…they were all unique and possessed their own style of beauty. None were nearly so much, though, as she was. He edged his way toward another corner of the shop. The crimson of the roses before him served as a reminder of her lips, so delicate, so passionate all at once…and yet, love and beauty, was not the message he wished to convey at this point. With a frown, he even wondered if she would be offended- some sort of breach of their contract as friends. He had to also consider the other meaning of red roses- courage, or respect. Would she know then what to make of it? Would she care? There were too many different meanings for the various colors. The yellow roses were certainly beautiful and appropriate- friendship, joy, and gladness; yet, Ryan was not positive about sending that message either, given his strong feelings for her. Would he ever share those feelings with her? He wondered every single day. Day by day his love for her only grew stronger. His gaze moved toward a delicate arrangement of white roses. Another sigh. Purity, innocence, charm…not quite appropriate either. Then onto another display- pink roses, so gentle, so like the blush of her cheeks. Appreciation, thanks…or even grace, happiness or admiration. In the end, pink, he decided, to be the safest, although it did not, nor could not express the desire that he felt for her. It would not show the desperate ache of love he held inside. But, it didn't matter.

Award or no award, whether she was a pop star or a ballerina, Ryan's heart had been lost to Meg from the first time she had joined the company back in London. Playing a smaller part, she had shined as the witch's mother, giving delicate grace to such an unsavory character. He knew it then, like he knew it now; in all the months that had passed, his feelings had neither diminished nor faded. She had imprinted herself into his soul with the force of a blazing branding iron, and whether they remained only friends was irrelevant. Living without her was not an option.

With blooms in hand, he glanced at his cell phone. It was still early, yet he wanted to be sure that along with his own necessary preparations for the evening, that Meg had everything that she needed for the much anticipated event, and there was still that email that he had forgotten to send to Mr. Whitehall the night before. He had plenty of time, he knew, but his feet still carried him quickly out of the florist shop and onto the sidewalk. Unaffected by the overcast of clouds above, Ryan inhaled the heady, sweet scent of the roses; it was going to be a beautiful day.

Traffic was heavy, even for a weekday, and he had to wait patiently to step out into the street to reach his car. He gave a quick glance in both directions to make sure it was clear. With one chirp of his alarm, the doors unlocked, and then to his surprise, Meg's familiar ring tone caught his attention. He smiled once again at the sound, and reached the phone from his pocket, stepping out in the direction of his sedan, but as he edged along the left driver's side, the overbearing howl of a horn blared…

…and as the delicate pink roses dislodged from his grasp, his cell phone was knocked abruptly from his hand, and the heart pounding screeching of brakes was the last thing he remembered.

* * *

"Ryan was walking to his car, and the kid who hit him was talking on his cell phone, and claimed to not have seen him."

David looked impatiently at his watch as he and Meg rode the elevator. He knew this was bound to happen as soon as he told her the news. The awards show was the furthest thing from her mind as she pounded on the button for the elevator to hurry. Ryan had suffered a concussion, as well as a few broken ribs. In addition, his right arm was broken, and there were the inevitable profusion of cuts and bruises, but despite the fact that his head had hit the ground disturbingly hard and he had lost a lot of blood, there was no brain damage. Indeed, he was lucky to be alive. Her brows were creased with worry, and though David had tried to reassure her that Ryan was going to be okay, she flatly refused to go anywhere but the hospital. To David's relief, Ryan had been released from the intensive care unit, and had been pronounced stable.

"When did this happen, David?" she demanded, now angry, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. "Why didn't anyone call ME?"

"It happened earlier this morning. When the hospital called me it was before noon. Ryan was barely conscious. He said four words to me: awards, Meg, take, please. He wanted you to go." Ryan may have been bruised and swollen, and there were dark purplish circles under his eyes, but the look in the man's eyes was unmistakable. Pleading. Don't tell her…

How could he not?

Meg was having difficulty containing one thought in her mind. What was he thinking, she wondered. How could he think that she could possibly want to flit off to the awards show as though nothing had happened…as though Ryan wasn't lying there, hurt and injured in a hospital bed… Her eyes began to well up again. Though she had refused to admit it to herself, Ryan was her whole life now. She had been foolish to believe otherwise.

David reached out his hands to her, grasping her shoulders, and forcing her to meet his eyes. "He's going to be fine."

"He's all alone!" she told him, her voice breaking as she said the last word. Ryan's family still lived in New York City, and even now, Meg could relate to the isolated feeling of not having any relations within reach.

He kept his voice very calm. "His mother is flying in. She'll be here any minute. More than likely his sisters will follow…"

Meg shook her head stubbornly. "I should be there. _I_ should have been there for him!"

The sliding doors parted, though not quickly enough for Meg, and she nearly stepped in the way of a nurse pushing an elderly woman in a wheelchair.

"Excuse me," Meg uttered, sniffling, looking past, and gesturing David to lead her in the right direction.

"Meggie." He stopped her before she could reach the door. "You need to calm down. Ryan, if he's even awake, does not need to see you like this. Okay?"

She nodded, taking a deep breath, and wiping tears from her cheeks. Dressed in her gown, she imagined that she looked a mess, but she did not care. But, now she began to feel a burst of panic, wondering what she might find on the other side of the door.

David opened the door for her, and as Meg walked in, she gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. Even after all the reassurances David had given her, she still was not prepared to see Ryan laying there on the bed, her beautiful Ryan; his head was bandaged, his face swollen and bruised, stitches on his forehead, and his arm was in a cast. Wires trailed from the bed to a bank of monitoring machines at his bedside. At least, she thought, as she approached him carefully, he could not see her reaction. His eyes were closed and he looked eerily peaceful. She stood there for a moment at his side as the beeping of machines reassured her with their noise. He was alive, she thought, and she was grateful for that.

"We have to go, or we will be too late," David murmured.

"No!" Meg hissed.

"There's no telling when he'll wake up. He needs his…" he trailed off as he noticed that there were small twitches behind Ryan's closed lids.

"Ryan?" Meg gasped, a tear falling from her eye. She set her hand on his chest, taking the seat beside him.

He blinked several times as he seemingly tried to focus clearly on the face before him.

"Ryan? Can you speak?" Meg asked, reaching over and taking his left hand in hers.

Puzzled, his eyes moved over her features and then to the man behind her.

"Ryan?" she said again. "It's me, Meg. Can you hear me?"

The same puzzled expression stayed fixed to his face, and his voice sounded weak and hoarse as he forced the words out. "Meg who?"

Meg felt her whole body stiffen, and as her heart sank as low as the floor, she did not even hear David's shocked expletive. She rose from the chair, turning away from Ryan, looking to David for his reaction. Suddenly, she was feeling very faint.

"David?" she called out, meaning to reprimand him. David had told her that Ryan was fine, that he would recover. He had never mentioned anything about memory loss, but before she could summon the words, her attention was brought back to the man lying in bed, struggling for breath…and oddly the corners of his mouth were turned upward…

Coughing now, Ryan wheezed, "Gotcha!" He was chuckling and wincing each time his chest rose and fell.

With mouth agape, Meg was filled with fury, and she had the sudden urge to strike the man in the bed. But as her eyes beheld his pitiful condition, tubes sticking out of his nostrils, an IV taped to his left arm, monitor cables stuck everywhere, and his right arm held in place with a stiff cast, the sympathy flooded back to her with a vengeance.

"Ryan…" she murmured, not quite sure what to say. "Are you okay? You look…" She held onto the word "terrible" before it could leave her lips.

"You," he began, his voice still hoarse, "look hot." With thorough appreciation, his caramel gaze scanned the deep blue dress that she wore, and the tempting curves that inhabited it. His eyebrows came together then, another painful wince. Every muscle throbbed. "What time is it?"

David glanced at his watch with a sigh. "6:58."

Trying to keep his face still, Ryan's gaze turned back to Meg. "What are you doing here?"

"I…I came to see you. You were hurt…"

"You," he began, trying to speak the words more forcefully so that she would listen, "have an awards show to go to."

"I told her," David confirmed.

"No," Meg told him, edging closer to his bed. "I'm going to stay with you, Ryan."

"No!" he bellowed, or at least tried to bellow. "Go now, Meg. I'm going to be here for awhile." He tried to lift his left hand with the tube extending toward the IV bag for emphasis.

"But, Ryan…" She tried to argue.

"Go! Hurry! I'll be watching." Weakly, he pointed to the television suspended from the middle of the room.

Every bone in her body felt the need to stay where she was, but it was David's arm that finally pulled her away, and a feeling of pure guilt washed through her as she told him goodbye, promising to be back soon.

"Told you," David said, his voice awfully smug, once they were out of earshot.

Meg glared at her agent, still wary about leaving. "Shut up."

Nearly an hour later, Ryan felt the blissful relief of the morphine kicking in again, his eyes glued to the television. He tried to keep his attention focused as they were about to announce the winner, and as the presenters announced Meg's name, Ryan uttered an enthusiastic "YES!", clenching his hand into a fist excitedly, and then grimaced at the discomfort of the action. The pain did not shoot, or throb, and as every muscle in his body relaxed, he watched as she took to the stage with a ballerina's grace.

She was luminous, and her blue eyes sparkled with tears. He could not be more proud of her if he tried. Fighting the haze that was trying to envelop him, he listened to her angel's voice as she concluded her speech.

"And finally I would not be here if not for one man. He's my lyricist, my inspiration, my friend. He believed that I could actually be standing here before you now. Thank you, Ryan. I love you." He felt his heart swell as she blew a kiss to the camera, grasping the shiny silver trophy with the other…and as the sedative took its full effect, Ryan's lids closed, and a smile rested on his lips.

* * *

A/N: A big thanks to my reviewers! I seem to have lost some along the way...Hang in there with me, though, and as always, please review!


	65. Proof

**A/N**: A huge thanks to my three lovely reviewers- _Timeflies, IamthePhantomoftheOpera, and loveofdarkness143_! Big hugs to you all! I appreciate your input so much and am extremely grateful to hear from you all. A big thanks of course, to my readers who are still with me. I would love to hear from you as well, so please don't be shy- I love and appreciate honest feedback.

**Proof**

She had come upon it by mistake, trying to complete the task that Ryan was now unable to. After clicking the file on his documents entitled 'Marguerite', how could she have known that it was not the folder where he had kept their songs?

Meg stared back at his laptop screen in disbelief. This had to be the reason he had guarded his password so carefully. It was private, she knew, but her fingers hardly acknowledged that fact as they set out to quench her curiosity. On the big white screen before her, there was file upon file of letters addressed to her, dating back to over a year prior. They were letters he had written, but not erased; they were apologies never meant for her eyes to see, they were declarations of love and regret for the way things had turned out. Also among the list of documents were his poems, some he had sent to her, and songs - two in particular, both recorded and well-known. Meg brushed away one of several tears from her eyes. Those songs had not been a tribute to his dead wife- they had been dedicated to her.

_Two hours prior_…

He was asleep, looking much the same as he had merely a couple of hours prior. And Meg's heart went out to him once again as Ryan lay there in the hospital bed. The air was stiff and sterile, and as she leaned closer to get another look at him she could see the dark shadows of purple beneath his eyes, and the narrow cut along his forehead, its length braided with stitches. His lips looked dry, and underneath the scruff of facial hair, she could barely make out a hint of jagged scrapes along his jaw line.

A buzzing sound caught her attention as it rang out from her small silver clutch. With a sigh, she debated about whether to answer it. Perhaps David had finally figured out that after accepting the award that she had no intention of returning to her seat, or maybe it was Mr. Whitehall from Capitol Records trying to reach Ryan. He had left two messages for her already.

"Hello?" she answered, keeping her voice quiet. As she listened to Mr. Whitehall's voice on the other end of the line, her gaze moved back to the injured man in the bed. "He is sleeping now, but looking a little better. Yes." A frown came across her face then. "Oh, I thought Ryan was going to send those documents to you." Apparently it had been on his list of things to do… "I see. Me? I don't have…" she paused, seeing that this necessary task would need to be completed without Ryan's help. "I'll get to it as soon as I can," she promised, bothered now by the insistent demands of Ryan's boss. For heaven's sake, Ryan was lying there, practically on his deathbed…She could not recall whether she said goodbye as she flipped her phone shut. Tears began to form in her eyes once again at the sight of him. True, it was dramatic, and she knew he wasn't dying, but to see him this way…

The clicking of heels broke her from her bout of pity, and Meg's attention turned to the visitor behind her.

She was tall and slim, dressed attractively in a turquoise silk blouse, knee length black skirt, and heeled boots. Her sandy blond hair hung just below her ears in an inward curl, and her kind brown eyes were pleased as they gazed upon Meg.

"Hello," the woman greeted with a Styrofoam cup braced in one delicate hand.

Meg had to guess that she was in her late forties; the woman was beautiful, from the captivating caramel color of her eyes, to the petite straightness of her nose, down to the dainty curve of her lips, and as Meg gazed upon her features, she knew in an instant. This woman was Ryan's mother.

"You must be Marguerite," she said, her voice sweet and friendly. Her heels made brief clicking sounds as she moved toward her. "My name is Lindsey. Lindsey Cooke." She extended her other hand to Meg. "I'm…"

"Ryan's mother," Meg finished for her as she looked at the woman in awe, now shaking her hand. Beautiful was not the right word, stunning seemed to suit her better, and yet there was nothing arrogant about her. Her very presence exuded warmth.

Lindsey took a sip from her cup and gazed toward her son. "He's still asleep." She shook her head, and Meg thought she noticed a hint of tears in her eyes. "He's lucky to be alive."

Meg nodded dumbly, still in shock.

A smile lit up Lindsey's face then as she sniffled, and Meg could see it right away- Ryan's smile.

"I have to say, Marguerite. Ryan's description of you did not do you justice."

Meg's eyes blinked at the woman who took the opposite side from her, taking her son's left hand in her own. There was no way to be sure how much this woman had known about their lives.

"He told us all about you."

That answered that question, and now Meg was not sure if that was such a good thing. She was not at all sure what to say.

"We've all been dying to meet you since Ryan was living in London - his sisters, especially. They seemed convinced that after Joanna, that no woman would ever claim their brother's heart again."

At the mention of Joanna's name, Meg involuntarily flinched, but kept her gaze downward at Ryan, focusing on the clear tube extending from his arm. _Joanna._ The name still felt like a stab through her heart.

"Oh," Lindsey said, noticing the expression of discomfort on Meg's face. "I apologize. I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories."

Again, Meg was speechless. This was Ryan's mother, and the last thing she wanted was to say anything rude or offensive. Instead, she just shook her head.

There was an awkward silence between the two women, and all that could be heard was the low murmur of beeping from the monitors. Lindsey rose and adjusted his pillow, and fussed with his blanket. She looked to Meg then, unable to keep her eyes from the young beauty.

"This is none of my business, and…" Lindsey shot a careful look at her son. "He would kill me if he heard me tell you this, but, Ryan loves you very much."

Meg flinched again, visibly, as though she'd been zapped by a tazer. The name "Ryan" and the word "love" were two words that she was not ready to hear in the same sentence, even now, despite her strong feelings for him. The words had slipped out of her mouth during her speech. They were heartfelt and true when she had spoken them, she could not deny it, nor could she deny the fact that they had been emotionally driven by his accident. Even now as she pondered it, she could not be sure whether it had been the kind of love that friends share or if it were another…

"I know my son," she continued. "Once he gives his heart, he gives it completely."

The words stung like the pain from a horde of wasps. In different words, Ryan had admitted as much to Meg about his feelings for his late childhood sweetheart. When all was said and done, he had definitely made his choice.

"He even gave me my ring back," Lindsey admitted, now stroking her son's hand tenderly.

Puzzled, Meg finally allowed herself to sit. She was feeling very uncomfortable about this whole conversation, and though her question was probably inappropriate, her curiosity won out. "Why…why wasn't… she buried with it?"

Lindsey's light eyebrows came together, now puzzled by Meg's question. Finally, a flash of understanding was reflected in her face. "No, no, my dear. My ring…" she laughed at the misunderstanding. "My ring was passed down to me from my great grandmother who had given it to my grandmother who'd passed it down to my mother…anyhow," she said with a shake of her head, "the ring wasn't for Joanna." Her tone was incredulous as though her statement was common knowledge. "It was for you."

Meg stared back at Ryan's mother, her mouth agape.

It was quiet then for a long moment, and Lindsey could see the torn ache in Meg's expressive blue eyes. "Joanna…her doctors told her that she had six weeks to live. We were all amazed that she survived for as long as she did…and Ryan, out of a sense of obligation stayed with her, but only as a friend. His heart was still with you."

Meg began to feel lightheaded at Lindsey's revelation. All those months of grief, all the time she spent wondering…it was all too much to digest. It was even more difficult to truly believe.

"I'm sorry," she said, the lines on her forehead creased with concern. "I've let my mouth get away with me."

Ryan's feet twitched underneath the blanket and the two women looked toward his face, finding him blinking his eyes and trying to gain focus. "Mom, is that you?"

"Of course, baby," she cooed as though he were a three-year-old boy. "Mom's still here."

It was too much for her right now, and Meg had the urge to disappear as quickly as she could. "I have to go."

Ryan turned his gaze toward her voice, a new warmth present in his voice. "Meg? You're here! I saw you on TV. Congratulations!"

Meg began to back away from him, lying bruised and injured in the bed. She needed to find any excuse to leave, suffocated by the overwhelming disclosure of his mother. "Thank you," she mumbled, tearing her eyes away from his magnetic caramel eyes. "I'll come back tomorrow. I have to…" She searched her mind. "I have to send the e-mail to Mr. Whitehall."

His brown eyes closed tight with Meg's reminder. "Right! I forgot about that."

She only stayed long enough to learn the whereabouts of his laptop and how to retrieve it. He had asked if she was all right as he saw the distressed look on her face. And tears burned in Meg's eyes as she rode the elevator down to the first floor in the hospital. He, with his concussion, his broken arm and ribs, bruises and cuts marring his beautiful face, had been concerned if _she_ was feeling well.

It didn't matter, she told herself. It had been a very long day. Her mind was cluttered now with the events of the evening; first, with the realization of the accident, feeling that she was going to lose the only person who mattered to her, and then second, the glory of being on that stage and receiving that award. Then third, she tried to swallow the bomb of information that his mother had just dropped on her. The elevator doors opened before her, and determined to focus on her task at hand, Meg exited the hospital to hail a taxi.

* * *

It was after two in the morning, and Meg paced the floor in the dining room, her eyes still darting toward the screen. After sending the email to Mr. Whitehall with the necessary documents, she told herself that she would promptly shut down Ryan's computer, but somehow could not force her hands to complete the action. Meg knew the truth now behind Ryan's feelings. She had read the proof of it over and over again…and somehow still could hardly bring herself to believe it, even after all the things Lindsey had told her at the hospital. She considered the late hour, and after a quick calculation, Meg determined what time it would be in Paris…

"Congratulations!" Antoinette's voice rang out on the other end of the line. Although, she had not seen the broadcast of the show herself, she had heard the results.

"Hello, Mamma." A fresh batch of tears welled in her eyes. Her first impulse had been to call Christine, but another stronger impulse had driven her to dial her mother's number.

"We are so proud of you," she cooed.

Meg smiled as she heard her mother's voice, and wiped away her tears. "I need to talk to you," Meg told her in a no nonsense tone. "About Ryan."

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

In a mouthful of jumbled explanation, Meg explained about the accident, and backed up even further to the fact that he was now living in California…and that they worked together. There was something in her silence, though, that made certain memories flicker in Meg's mind.

"You already knew, didn't you?" Meg asked, but it came out as more of an accusation.

Antoinette hesitated. "Not about the accident."

At that very moment, she remembered the odd connection between her mother and Ryan. Antoinette Giry, the strict ballet mistress who would sooner spit on you than pay a compliment, had told Ryan back in Paris to call her "Mamma Giry." It had seemed odd to Meg at the time, yet with her mother's wedding they all had enough on their minds. And then over a year ago when Meg was so nervous about telling her mother that she had moved to California from London, her mother had informed her that Ryan had already told her. Ryan had kept in touch with her…

"Mamma, what _else_ do you know about Ryan?" Meg asked very slowly, her eyes closed tightly. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest.

It was silent.

"Mamma? Please tell me!"

She heard her mother sigh on the other end of the line.

"I knew when he moved back to New York, when he got married, and the day that Joanna passed away."

A gasp escaped from Meg's throat. "You knew? Why?"

There was another pause before she spoke again. It was almost as though she was deliberating. "The day before Nadir and I married, Ryan asked for my permission to marry you. He was waiting for his mother's ring to arrive in the mail, and then he was going to propose.

"I told him that you two barely knew each other, and that it was too soon. He was stubborn- in a gentle way, and maybe it was the banana nut pancakes that he prepared that morning that stopped me from throwing him out of the house, but he was absolutely sure that you two belonged together. Then when I saw how you were with him, I believed it, too."

Fresh tears began to fall from Meg's eyes, and her mother spoke again.

"Then after he had made his decision about Joanna, I told him that you weren't going to wait for him, and that once he made this choice that you would never forgive him… but he insisted that he still loved you and that he was going to try. As a matter of fact, Joanna passed away just before you and David broke up."

Meg gasped again. "And that was why you were so…" She didn't want to complete that sentence. "Ugh! Mother!"

"A mother always wants what's best for her daughter," Antoinette assured her.

With a yawn, Meg shook her head. Her eyelids suddenly felt like they weighed one hundred pounds. All this information was too much to digest. One thing was for certain; her mother had been very good at keeping secrets…With a promise to call again later, Meg hung up the phone and let her body fall onto her bed.

Ryan loved her. His family had known it. Her mother had known it, and somewhere deep down Meg had known it too.

_A mother always wants what's best for her daughter._

Her mother seemed to have believed that Ryan was best for her…and now as Meg drifted off to sleep, she wondered if she believed it too.

* * *


	66. Broken Promise

**Broken Promise**

Meg was unusually calm.

Under Erik's expert direction, a sweet serenade of violins reverberated throughout the theater, filling the air, every pore with emotion. The crimson velvet curtains hung as a brilliant frame, presenting a shocking contrast of color to the profusion of bordering arrangements of white lilies. A thousand tiny lights illuminated the dusky setting, and Christine gave Meg one final admiring glance before her feet carried her along the path of white rose petals. A smile lit up Meg's face as she watched her best friend descend, her auburn curls dancing against the back of her red chiffon gown. With her free hand, Meg smoothed down the long length of pearly satin extending from her bodice. She soon felt the warmth of an arm slipping through her own with a gentle squeeze, and then turned to face the olive-skinned man beside her. Nadir's smile revealed teeth that were extraordinarily white against his dark skin and black suit, and as the tune of the processional rang forth, he inched forward, observing their cue. Her feet barely touched the floor as they glided down the aisle – she felt as though she was floating as her eyes met the gazes of the audience. Dozens of familiar faces watched with admiration, and Meg was pleased to recognize each one – many from the corps de ballet, who, in turn waved to her as she walked past, as well as several of the company from the Opera Populaire and the cast that she had grown so fond of during her time with _Wicked_. And even from a distance, she could see the swell of happy tears in her mother's eyes as she approached.

But it was he who caught her attention as she faced forward again, feeling so close, but still so far away from the altar. The minister was but a vague blur beside him as Meg's eyes locked onto her groom's caramel gaze. He was devastatingly handsome - almost wrongly so - in his black tuxedo, a delicate white lily gracing his lapel, and as Ryan gazed back at her with sheer adoration, his lips formed the word "beautiful" before settling into a dazzling smile. It seemed minutes short of an eternity when she reached him - it was as though she had been waiting for him, for this moment, her whole life – and her stepfather presented her hand to Ryan.

Her hand met his with a buzz of electricity, the customary charge at which their flesh met which was not at all customary. Beaming, Ryan's fingers entwined tightly into her own, as though trying to convey that he would never let her go. Her thumb stroked his knuckles in return, giving him a clear response. _They would never be apart again._ She glowed with that realization and a surge of bliss swam through her. Having Ryan there before her, she didn't want anything else. Locked in the exhilaration of his tender gaze, the ocean of faces behind them seemed to fade away; there was nothing except for the two of them here and now in this perfect moment. With matching strides, their feet carried them up the front tiers of steps leading to the stage, and they finally met the minister's gaze.

His words, strong and meaningful, proclaimed their love and purpose for this day; it was the binding of their two souls and hearts, a holy union between man and woman. Meg barely heard the voice of the minister, her focus instead on the love in Ryan's eyes, the smile on his lips. When the time came, Christine leaned in to relieve Meg of her bouquet. Confidently, Ryan took his hands in hers, and Meg felt another jolt of electricity surge through her, her heart pounding now as the minister voiced the most significant question.

"Do you, Ryan Edward Cooke, take Marguerite Giry as your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, from this day forward for as long as you both shall live?"

Meg's eyes never left his, and with another dazzling smile, he answered quickly, "I do."

She began to hear a faint ringing of church bells at that moment, and as Ryan watched her with expectant eyes, the sound of the bells became louder.

"Do you, Marguerite Giry, take Ryan Edward Cooke to be your lawfully wedded husband…."

The peal became progressively louder, and Meg blinked as the ringing became stronger in her ears.

"…to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health from this day forward, for as long as you both shall live?"

She could barely hear the minister's last words as the ringing became ever stronger, and Ryan's expression turned from happiness to concern.

"Meg?" he asked.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out, and still the ringing had become overwhelming. "I…I…" Meg began to feel she was losing her balance, and Ryan's face was fading from her view. She shouted, forming the words tightly with her lips. "I do…"

No sound came out, though, and the faces of the minister and Christine, the bridesmaids and ushers quickly faded as well. Tears of frustration began to well at her eyes, and as she fought to block out the evil ringing, desperately, she shouted, expelling all the air her lungs held.

"I DO!"

Meg's eyes popped open then, her heart still pounding as she faced the source of her frustration. The clock on the nightstand beside her read 8:00, and the incessant beeping was now picking at her last nerve. Angrily, she snatched up the alarm clock and pitched it across the room, watching as the pull of the cord stopped it short from hitting the wall.

It was only a dream. But it seemed so real…the feelings, the emotions, the faces…and her body shook with that realization. It wasn't just the wedding that she wanted; she knew that now. The love she felt for Ryan struck her with the force of a torpedo. She had made a promise to herself once, and it hadn't seemed so very long ago. She vowed to never fall in love again.

_Never say never_… the words echoed in her brain.

Despite her convictions, all her doubt and pain, her heart now swelled with the knowledge; she, Meg Giry, was in love again. She couldn't do anything to change it, even if she wanted. Their paths had crossed once more, and it seemed that the unyielding hands of fate had reached out, grabbing a tight hold of the pair and placed them right back together. Perhaps destiny had made a ruling over a year ago that then was not the right time for them…

Would she have come all the way to California if Ryan had not ended their relationship so abruptly? Would she have had the strength to push herself and her career when it would have been so easy to settle into a safe routine with him in London? Those two questions planted themselves in her mind, burrowing deeply into a corner.

There were no easy answers to those questions, and Meg resolved to not dwell on the past any longer. Her future looked bright, and as sure as the blood that flowed through her veins, she was now convinced; she was meant to be with Ryan.

* * *

Meg thought that she had been prepared. She had gone to his apartment (finding it in its usual state of disarray) and packed a bag for him. Though not necessary at this moment, she thought he might find comfort in some of his own belongings- some toiletries, clean clothing, two magazines and a book, and even some of his leftover muffins. The next stop was a trip to the florist, and she had carefully chosen a deep green, leafy fern along with some balloons that bore the words "Get well soon." Yes, that was the easy part, but as she rode the elevator up to his floor, casually shoving away a balloon from her cheek, she felt panic-stricken.

She was not prepared at all.

Given her new knowledge and confirmation of Ryan's feelings, Meg had no idea how to broach this delicate subject with him…or if she should. It was likely that Ryan was none the wiser. Wouldn't it better, she wondered, to just allow things to run their natural course? But, then a fresh wave of panic rolled across her with the force of an army tank. What if things didn't run their natural course? What if he simply fell out of love with her? Before she had time to ponder that, the elevator doors slid open before her. The door was already open to his room and from outside, she could hear a crowd of voices.

As Meg paused in the doorway, the room became suddenly quiet and six sets of eyes turned to her, gazing at her from top to bottom. There were five women (including Lindsey, Ryan's mother) and one man. The resemblance was remarkable among the group. They stood from medium height to tall, and their faces seemed to all echo the beauty of their mother. The four women, with shades of hair ranging from dark brown to sandy blond looked at Meg questioningly. The man, whom Meg guessed was probably in his fifties, had dark hair with grays at his temple. With his rigid posture and chiseled features, she could easily see what appeared to be a middle-aged version of Ryan.

"Hey, Meg!" Ryan's voice called out, hidden behind the bodies of his siblings. "Come in and meet the fam!"

As intimidated as she felt, she took a deep breath, brushed a balloon away from her hair, pasted a smile to her face, and allowed her feet to lead the way.

_Three hours later…_

It turned out that she had been worried for nothing. With so many of Ryan's family members there, he was rarely alone. Along with the constant coming and going of the nurses and doctor, Meg did not even have to think about what she should say to him. Rebecca, the eldest of the crew, was the most quiet. Her dark hair was neatly layered to her chin, and her green eyes watched Meg speculatively. On the other hand were Renee and Rosie, the twins, who with their warm smiles and friendly personalities had won her over instantly. It was fun for Meg to watch the pair as they fussed over their brother and teased him relentlessly. Identically beautiful with long blond flowing locks, slim, and with eyes the color of their mother's and brother's, they reminded Meg of the Double mint Twins. But it was the youngest sibling, Rachel, with whom she felt the closest connection. Standing inches shorter than the rest of her family, Rachel had light brown wavy hair and hazel eyes, and her petite frame was slightly heavier than her sisters. The youngest Cooke stood by her side with her arm linked through Meg's possessively. She had the face of an angel, Meg thought, and the sweetness to match. It was not difficult to see where Ryan had inherited his sunny disposition. Even Ryan's father Edward had taken her hand in a warm greeting, his own smile infectious.

The clan was bursting at the seams with questions, wanting to know all about her transition from musical theater to becoming a recording artist. Each member of his family had had their turns with the theater, but it seemed that the oldest, Rebecca, had shied away from it after college, turning instead to the world of business and marrying a stockbroker, soon settling into the position of wife and mother.

"And so, are you and my brother getting back together?" asked Renee, unable to help herself.

Meg felt a furious blush burn at her cheeks, and she noticed the look of disapproval that Lindsey shot at her daughter.

"You don't have to answer that," Lindsey told her.

Ryan was becoming sleepy from the drugs. "We're just friends, Renee," he replied, becoming mellower by the second. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Well, if you were smart, Ryan, you would sweep her off her feet," Rachel told him.

"Absolutely," Rosie agreed. "You need to write her another song."

His lids were feeling heavier by the second, but then the nurse entered to check his blood pressure, jarring him from his trance.

Feeling that her face was bright red by now, Meg wondered how long they would keep talking as though she were not there. "He doesn't need to do that." Mostly she spoke up just to remind them of her presence, although she could not help but relish the idea of another song dedication.

Ryan's expression became more agitated with the pressure of the blood pressure cuff tightening around his arm. "Mom?"

Lindsey picked right up on her son's cue. "Girls, let's back off. Leave your brother alone," she admonished, naturally as though they were all young children again.

"But, Mom…" came Renee's protest, and Meg felt like she was witnessing a dispute between quarreling siblings.

"Let's let your brother get some sleep," Lindsey said sternly, eyeing each one of her grown up daughters.

The nurse was now recording results on Ryan's chart, and Ryan's lids were beginning to close once again.

Edward, who had stayed quiet until now, spoke up. "Your mother is right. Let's go get some lunch." He turned his green eyes to Meg. "You are more than welcome to join us, Marguerite."

Ryan's voice turned everyone's attention back to his bed. "Meg? Will you stay?"

Her pulse sped up immediately. She wasn't sure what was more unnerving- the possibility of talking with him alone or the way each member of Ryan's family was suddenly staring at her- their expressions suddenly displaying their pleasant surprise.

"Sure."

He waited until he heard the door close and peeked out through one eye before opening them both. His face turned to Meg, who had taken his mother's spot by his side. "I thought they would never leave."

Meg looked at him, puzzled. "I thought you were going to sleep."

He shrugged. "I'm fighting it. I wanted to speak to you alone, Meg. I wanted to thank you for being here with me. It means a lot to me." Ryan grinned widely at her, and the caramel of his eyes suddenly sparkled.

A burst of warmth encircled her heart. Beneath all the cuts, bruises, and stitches, he was still her same perfect Ryan. "You don't have to thank me for being here." She sat down in the chair and took his hand in hers. "I'm here because I want to be."

Ryan found himself immediately sucked in to the liquid blue of her eyes, unexpectedly feeling a sudden loss for words. "I…uh…my family loves you."

"They're great. I love them, too," she told him, realizing at the same time how odd it was to say those words and really mean them. She had only met his family hours ago, yet already developed some sort of connection.

"You said that you loved me." He wasn't sure how he had forced those words out, but felt relief instantly once he had, but now his concern – and regret – began to grow every moment he stared into the frozen deer-like image of her face. "It's true," he said, as if to reassure himself that he had actually heard her say that and had not just imagined it as he drifted off to sleep. "In front of millions of viewers, on national television," he affirmed. "You announced that you loved me."

Meg swallowed back the lump in her throat. Here was the moment she had been waiting for. Her fingers tightened around his. "Of course I love you, Ryan."

Ryan stiffened at her response, and his hand suddenly loosened from her grip. The words were right, but somehow the meaning was completely different, ugly – wrong. "Oh."

"Oh, what?" she asked him, suddenly confused by the frown on his face.

His hand left hers and now shielded his eyes. At that moment, he could not bear to look at her, or to let her see the pain wrought in his eyes. "I'm an idiot."

"What? Ryan, what are you talking about?" Her voice was now filled with exasperation.

He shook his head with slight, sharp movements. "As a friend," he explained, hating to have to spell it out. He understood her meaning perfectly. "You love me…as a friend."

For some reason, she began to feel irritated by his lightning quick response. "Wait a minute…"

"I'm such an idiot," he repeated, still covering his eyes and shaking his head. In his mind there was always room for doubt when it came to these things. Here he was in the hospital, for goodness sake. She may have said that out of pity.

"No…Ryan." Meg tried to break through the sudden invisible wall he'd magically made appear in between them.

"It's not your fault, Meg. You told me your feelings from the very beginning. I'm the one to blame here. I'm such an idiot!"

"Well, that's true," Rachel agreed, bursting in through the door, not even aware of the disagreement she had stepped into. "But we love you anyway."

Ryan's hand uncovered his face in shock, but soon the shock was overcome by bitterness.

"Rach, what are you doing here?" he asked gruffly as his youngest sister made her way to Meg's side.

Rachel leaned down and reached a black leather handbag by Meg's feet. "Mom forgot her purse," she replied defensively. "Gosh!" She held up the purse to make her point. At that moment she noticed the sudden quiet between her brother and new friend. "Did I…uh…interrupt something?"

Meg was not sure what to say. She knew she wanted to make things right but with Ryan's sudden mood change she had no idea what to say, especially with his sister now looking back and forth between the two.

He still looked angry, but refused to look at Meg, focusing instead on the hazel eyes of his sister. "Not at all. Meg was about to leave," Ryan informed her, rubbing his eyes with his left hand, still upset with himself for jumping to conclusions. "I can barely keep my eyes open."

Meg's head whirled as she tried to decipher what had just happened. _That was that…_ Ryan had already closed his eyes as though he were going to sleep. Shaking her head, she rose with a sigh and followed behind Rachel as she exited the room, frustrated by the events that had just taken place. "I'll be back tomorrow," Meg promised, turning back to face him just before opening the door to leave.

He didn't answer, though, and Meg could see the steady rise and fall of his chest as she turned back around to leave.

* * *

A/N: Honestly, you probably won't like me much the next couple of chapters, but what's life without a little angst? Stay with me, please! And review...


	67. Help

A/N: A big thanks to those who are still reading, and an even bigger thanks to those who have reviewed! How could I possibly go on without you?

**Help**

The rest of the day had been awkward, to say the least.

Although Meg had returned with his family after lunch and throughout the day, Ryan had not spoken another word to her. Despite the easy conversation between him and his siblings, Meg still felt the tension between herself and Ryan. She wondered if the others felt it as well. As it neared the evening, she said her farewells with a promise to return the following day, and to her dismay, Ryan's face was completely void of emotion as she left.

The next day she tended to some errands before visiting him again, determined to end this nonsense. She paused before the open door, hearing the voice of one of his sisters inside.

"You don't know that…" It was Rebecca's voice, his older sister who preferred observing to speaking.

"Oh, I know it," Ryan disagreed with a groan. "She told me that from the first day I saw her here. I was too pushy. In order for her to agree to even work with me, she created a list of things that I was forbidden to do. Anyhow, we had finally gotten to the point where we're friends, and now she probably hates me again."

"I doubt it, Rye," Rebecca countered. "She was here all day yesterday, and I'm _sure_ she'll back today…"

Meg could hear a couple of nurses whispering from a distance and felt guilty for eavesdropping, but couldn't bring herself to enter his room just yet…

"Besides, **I** think you have it all wrong," Rebecca continued. "You haven't seen the way she looks at you."

Meg was sure that her heart skipped a beat, and her feet automatically propelled her forward, rounding the corner and into the room. "Hello," she greeted with a smile, her pulse now racing at the sight of the two surprised faces staring back at her. "How are you today?" she asked, looking from Ryan and back to his sister. Standing, Ryan had his left arm draped over Rebecca's shoulder, and she was leading him gently back and forth across the room. Rebecca stopped short in alarm, and Ryan's face had turned an adorable shade of red…

Ryan, who didn't know what to say, smiled. "You're back," he said to Meg with the most grateful tone, and was, for the moment, frozen in the same spot.

Meg had the sudden urge to throw her arms around him, but resisted, instead making her way towards him, looking up into those engaging caramel eyes. She was caught off guard for just a moment, having expected to find him still lying in bed. "I said I would be back," she reminded. "They wanted me to come down to the studio this morning, and I came here right after." The cast on his right arm had yellowed just a tiny bit, and his bruising appeared less severe with each passing day. You're up," she observed, impressed as he stood there before her, standing at his full height and no longer chained to monitors and IV's.

"Yes, they've been encouraging me to walk around a bit since yesterday evening." He stretched out the stiffness in his legs for emphasis, and Meg could see his bare legs, strong and muscular beneath the hospital gown. "The tests are clear- no brain damage. I may be able to go home today."

Always intuitive, Rebecca spoke up. "I'm going to check on the rest of the gang," she announced. "Dad and the girls are in the cafeteria, and Mom is demanding that they release you already." She took a step toward the bed, leading Ryan slowly back to a sitting position.

Meg nodded. The timing was perfect, since none of his other sisters were present, and she was hoping to catch him before any more of the inevitable visits from doctors and nurses. The two said goodbye to Rebecca in unison as she left, and as Ryan's older sister departed, Meg caught the tiny wink she gave her brother.

Ryan and Meg were quiet for a moment, and she forced a smile, though he winced from pain as he tried to straighten his posture.

"You look good," she told him. Just three days prior, his circumstances had appeared very grim. However, now he was no longer an invalid confined to bed; rather, he was more a recovering patient.

"I'm sorry," Ryan burst out suddenly. "I acted like a jerk yesterday, Meg, and I hope you aren't mad at me."

She moved to his side. Her eyes focused on the liquid caramel of his eyes. "I'm not mad at you."

He took her hand then, and Meg felt the familiar jolt at his touch. "Thank you. I just want you to forget about what I said yesterday, okay?"

"Ryan…" she tried to interrupt, but was quickly silenced by his plea.

"If you care at all about me, you will not mention it again. I'm still really embarrassed…"

A nurse entered then, and Meg's head dropped down in disappointment. Following behind her were Lindsey and the rest of the Cooke clan. The nurse took Ryan's vitals again and briefed him about how to care for his injuries. Nearly an hour later, after a short visit from the doctor, he was released from the hospital's care.

The siblings had left a half hour before, promising to meet the gang at Ryan's apartment. Edward and Lindsey assisted their son into a rented van and Meg followed behind them in her own vehicle.

With a gasp, Meg walked through the threshold a short while later, her blue eyes shocked as they met the interior to Ryan's home. She had been there mere hours before, and now her mouth hung open in sheer amazement. No clothes on the floor, the tabletops were neat and orderly, as was the rest of the apartment, and she could even smell a hint of pine. Casually she entered, now breathing in the tempting aroma of chocolate chip cookies as it filled the air. Renee was in the kitchen, busy at work with oven mitt in one hand and scooping up freshly baked cookies with a spatula in the other hand. The loud hum of the vacuum could be heard coming from the hallway, and Meg soon spied Rachel pushing the machine around the carpet determinedly while Rosie darted from the bathroom to the bedroom with a bottle of window cleaner in hand. The trio was like a group of cleaning fairies, flitting about their brother's interior on a mission of cleanliness. The three had accomplished so much in such little time that Ryan and their own mom and dad could not help but be impressed. Before Meg could wonder what had become of the eldest, Rebecca entered behind them with three bags of groceries.

The evening progressed quickly, and the group enjoyed a dinner of homemade lasagna. And to Meg's dismay that desperately needed moment alone with Ryan was still impossible to achieve. By the time they were ready to retire for the night, so was Meg, and frustrated, she returned home. It was more than likely that most of his sisters would be returning to New York City the following day, and she hoped that Ryan's parents were soon to follow.

She and Ryan still needed two more songs for the album, but despite their own delay, the studio pushed production relentlessly. The following day, she was scheduled to begin recording and consulting with a director regarding the music videos. Meanwhile, David had been in constant contact with her about photo shoots and interviews. And without Ryan's assistance and encouragement, she felt lost…

The morning passed quickly and she had just a few precious hours before an interview with Rolling Stone magazine. The temptation to go see Ryan was almost unbearable, but she was beside herself now. She had no idea what to say… Seated in her car outside Ryan's apartment building, she picked up her cell phone. She needed help, and she needed it now.

"Hello, Meg."

Meg frowned at the tired, deep voice on the other end of the line. It was nighttime in Paris and the last one she expected to hear on Christine's cell phone was Erik.

"Hello, Erik," she greeted with surprise. "How's the opera coming along?"

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. "Slow. And how are you? I hear congratulations are in order. Your mother has been bragging to everyone about your award."

Meg smiled, doodling on the backside of an envelope. "Thank you. I still can't believe it…"

"I always knew you had it in you."

For some reason, praise from her former music teacher still felt awkward. Perhaps it was because when he was tutoring her, the compliments were nonexistent…Christine had definitely changed the man…for the good.

"Will you be joining us on opening night?" he asked.

"I wish I could. For the next few weeks I am stuck here, and then after that they want to begin the concert tour."

"Oh, well I'm happy that things are going well for you, Meg. I suppose you wanted to speak to Christine- she's uh…well, occupied with costumes, rather, alterations at the moment."

A sigh of disappointment escaped her mouth. "Oh."

"I can have her call you back, unless there's something I can help you with…"

Meg laughed. "Uh, I don't think so. That's okay, Erik."

"Are you sure?"

Maybe it was because Meg was tired of keeping it bottled inside, or maybe it was because she was becoming desperate. She closed her eyes and let the words fall where they may.

"Did Christine tell you that Ryan and I work together now- that he's helping me write music for my album?"

"Yes. I believe she did mention it."

"And that he was hit by a car?"

"Your mom told us. How is he doing?"

"Better. He's home now," she replied. Now, she felt silly for beginning this whole conversation with him.

"Good…"

Silence.

"And?" Erik asked.

"And…" Meg replied, with no clue how to continue. This was her first love that she was speaking to!

"And so you're in love with him. Again." It was not a question. Erik said it as though it were common knowledge.

Caught off guard, Meg felt herself begin to blush. "I…I…" she stammered. "How did you know?"

"Christine told me last time she got off the phone with you. She knew before you did," he told her, his tone matter-of-fact. "Anyhow, so, he's in love with you, you're in love with him, what seems to be the problem?"

Still embarrassed, she continued, "The problem is that we've been just friends while we've been working together, and he doesn't believe that I'm in love with him."

"That's remedied easily enough."

"How?" she asked incredulously. "I can't seem to get one minute alone with him, and then when I do, I say the wrong things."

Erik laughed. "Show him. There are a million different ways…"

"Like how, push his mother and father aside and throw him on the bed?" By now, she was past mortified with the direction the conversation had taken, but was too enthralled to end it.

"Well, that's one way," Erik answered thoughtfully. "But I can think of another."

As Erik's words filled her ear, the corners of her lips turned upward. This idea of his would take some preparation, but she just knew that it in the end it would be worth it.

* * *

A/N: I know, I know...but we're getting ridiculously close to the end now, so please bear with me. As usual, I would love to hear from you!


	68. The Right Time

**The Right Time**

It had been excruciating for her, but Meg resisted the urge to see Ryan that day. Erik's idea had been perfect, and Meg had wanted to follow through prior to seeing Ryan. Instead she spoke with him on the telephone and attended her interview for Rolling Stone magazine. With her schedule open the rest of the evening, Meg sat at her dining room table, concentrating. This was not the type of thing that one typically accomplished in one sitting, but using all her focus, heart, and soul, the magic flowed seamlessly from pencil to paper.

Her eyes scanned the page, reading and rereading the words, embellishing where necessary. Impressed with the results, Meg smiled. She only needed to type it and decide how to proceed. There was no mistaking the message, and she was sure that Ryan's reaction would be favorable. Originally, she wanted to give herself as much time as she needed and present it to him the following day, or possibly delay until Ryan's parents had gone back home, but, now, she could hardly wait to give it to him. After a light dinner and a quick shower, she dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a long-sleeved fitted top, and with manila envelope in hand, Meg made her way to Ryan's.

* * *

Ryan felt like he was five-years-old again.

He rolled his eyes as his mother finished taping a long length of plastic around Ryan's cast.

"Mom, I can do this!"

Lindsey shook her head. "This job requires the use of two hands," she argued. "Now, you know you're going to have to be very careful when you take your bath."

"I know! I'm not going to get the cast wet," he replied, frustrated. He turned to look at the running water that was now steaming up the bathroom mirror.

She set the scissors and tape back into his first aid box, and turned to poke her hand into the quickly filling tub. Sneakily, she added a capful of liquid to the running water. "The bath's ready," she told him, twisting the knobs to shut off the water. "Now, if you need any help getting into the tub or anything else, just yell for your dad or me."

Closing his eyes, he tried to hold onto his patience. His mother's hovering over the past few days was getting to be too much. As much as he loved the woman, and appreciated all that she had done for him, he was now longing for the time when both she and his father would go home. He opened his eyes back up and edged his mother out into the hallway. "I'm fine. Thank you," he told her, shutting the door with his left hand. Working with one hand had proved very tricky in completing many tasks, but not impossible, and he was very careful so as not to put unnecessary stress on his casted arm.

After twisting the lock on the doorknob, he decided against barring entrance from his parents- just in case- and untwisted the lock. With a sigh, Ryan turned to face the tub. _Bubbles._ A thick cloud of foamy bubbles was now forming above his bath. Ryan shook his head. All he needed was a fleet of toy ships and a rubber ducky. Hesitantly, he moved toward the bath and began to peel off his robe.

As he lay in his bathtub, chest high in foam, he relished the privacy. His right arm, wrapped protectively in a coat of plastic, rested on the edge. Although it had been a few days since the accident, he already could not wait until the day when his arm was healed and he would not have to be confined to this itchy cast.

His sisters had departed earlier that morning, to his relief. They left at his request, agreeing that there was no need for them and now, as he began to hum to himself, he could hear his mother and father arguing in the living room. Again…

He still remembered the argument from that morning, although it had began innocent enough just before his sisters left for the airport.

"I know you and Dad have things to do at home. You don't have to stay," he had told his mother and father as they all sat watching the telecast of the morning news.

"Nonsense," Lindsey quipped. "You only have use of one of your arms! You can't even drive!" she told him, shaking her head.

Ryan already feared by the tone in his mom's voice that he was fighting a losing battle. "I'll take a cab."

She looked to her husband then for assistance, of which he definitely was not giving. Edward's eyes stayed focus on the news showing on Ryan's television. "You can't cook for yourself," she added, her lips pursed.

"I'll manage. I'm a big boy!" he retorted, looking desperately to his dad beside him for help, and then kicking him to get the man's attention.

With a tired sigh, Edward turned to his wife. "He's a big boy."

Infuriated, Lindsey stood up from the couch, glaring at them in exasperation. "Ryan nearly faced his death three days ago, Ed! His ribs are cracked, so he can't lift things or do anything that may cause him further injury. He can't use his right arm for writing, or driving, or…or…" She took a breath and then continued. "And he has to remember to take his medications…"

"I am not an invalid, Mother!" Ryan argued. "I can do things for myself."

"Lindsey," Edward said weakly, feeling he was fighting a losing battle as well. "I think that he'll be fine."

She folded her arms. The way she saw it, her little boy was all alone in this city. Even David, though he was a friend of the family, had his own busy life. "He _needs_ someone to take care of him. If _we_ go home, _who_ is going to take care of him?"

Ryan swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. He wanted to say that Meg would. Not that he agreed with his mother, but he could not help thinking of his former girlfriend. She had not even been there to see him that day, though she had called and told him about her commitments. But now, despite her comforting words, Ryan was having a paranoid feeling that she was upset with him. Oh, if he had just kept his mouth quiet, he thought with regret. At least, she could be there if he really did need the help. Just a phone call away…She would come, wouldn't she? Truly, he hated feeling this way. He did not want to be a nuisance to anyone. Not to his sisters, or to his parents, and especially not to Meg…

A third voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts, bringing himself back to the present. His heart did a little flip at the airy sound of her voice. Meg…she was there…

His movements were careful but quick. More than once he was tempted to call out to his father for help, trying not to bend too far forward as he struggled into a pair of grey sweat pants. The short-sleeved button up shirt was far easier to manage putting on than a pullover.

After a few minutes, with his wet chestnut hair combed back, he descended from the bathroom, struggling with one hand to remove the plastic from the cast.

"Hello, Meg," he greeted, tossing the ball of plastic into a wastebasket. A smile quickly appeared on his face as he found her seated between his parents. "I'm glad that you made it." That was an understatement, he thought.

Her blue eyes met his, and her smile took his breath away. As he fought to catch his breath, he could feel the ache in his ribs.

"You look better," she told him, nervously fidgeting with a manila envelope.

"I feel better." There was a tiny awkward moment as the four debated about their next topic of conversation when Ryan spoke up again, "So, Meg, what have you been up to besides recording the first song, magazine interviews, and photo shoots?" He tried to keep his tone light, even though he felt bitterly about having been absent for those important occasions.

He noticed that her posture stiffened. "I wrote a song."

Ryan felt his heart drop ten stories at that moment. She had written a song, _without him_. Besides feeling helpless, ugly, and injured, he was now beginning to feel expendable. He had only been out of commission for three days, and she was back to writing songs by herself. This was supposed to be a joint effort; then again, perhaps she never really needed his help at all…

Meg's arm extended past his mother's chest as she leaned to the side and tried to hand the manila envelope to him. Ryan set his eyes on the envelope with dread. He did not want to see it; the proof of his fear, yet she sat there, her face now white for some reason, watching him expectantly.

Ryan swallowed. "Mom, Dad, will you excuse us for a minute?" His eyes never left Meg's. "Follow me," he told her, gesturing her into the hallway.

In an instant Meg stood, and followed behind him. This was one moment when Ryan was especially thankful for her cooperation. It was one thing to feel the sting of her accomplishment in the privacy of another room and another to share it here with his parents. He turned on his heel abruptly, making no attempt to accept her offering.

It wasn't until they were in his office/guest room when he finally faced her. He had no words just then to express his unease. The only thing he could concentrate on at the moment was the burst of color filling her sweet face, and suddenly felt his anger rise when she shoved the large envelope into his chest.

"Well?" she asked.

"So, you just couldn't wait for me?" he bit out accusingly.

"Please, Ryan. I just want you to read it…" she pleaded.

Adjusting the weight of the sling on his shoulder, he shook his head. "I thought we were a team, and yet here you are back to writing your own…"

She did not let him finish the sentence and her eyes closed in frustration. "Ryan! Would you just _listen_ to me for once…?" Her blue eyes shot at him like daggers. "…And SHUT UP!"

Ryan gaped at the furious blonde, surprised by her tone, alarmed by her sudden irritation. "No!" he countered, sure that he had every right to be angry. "YOU shut up!"

In turn, Meg's mouth fell open. "NO, YOU shut up!"

"No. YOU!"

"NO! YOU!"

He wondered as her eyes desperately searched the room if she was going to find something to throw at him. "No…"

Before he could speak one more word, Ryan felt the warm weight of Meg's body suddenly against his. Before his mind could process one more thought, he could smell the heady scent of her perfume, creeping up through his nostrils and arresting his senses. Before his own body could react, her arms slid around his waist, and the sweet softness of her lips pressed tight and forceful against his. And before he could return her kiss, she had already molded herself to his chest, fastening her lips to his in such a way as to erase any doubt of her intentions. And at long last, the edges of the abyss in Ryan's heart slowly began to bridge together. His body came alive then, now embracing her with his left hand, running fingers through the golden silk of her hair, and tracing the smooth porcelain of her cheeks. His mouth responded hungrily, tasting the familiar aching sweetness of hers as his tongue gained entrance and danced with hers in a long-forgotten melody.

The kiss was long and sweet, and it was not until Meg pulled away that Ryan finally came to his senses.

Again, he was speechless as he stared at the unpredictable beauty. He wished that he could know what she was thinking as she pulled her arms from his waist and tried one more time to present him with the envelope. The desire to take Meg into his arms again was overpowering, but as he studied the determined expression on her face, he held back and accepted her offering. He decided that for this one time, no matter what, he would listen.

"I only had time to write the words," she told him shyly. "I hope you like it." Her cheeks had broken out in the most charming blush.

Ryan nodded, confused by her actions; they seemed so…contradictory. The song, in itself, seemed to demonstrate her independence, while her kiss had displayed her need. It was all very puzzling to him, and as the fingers on his left hand fussed with the opening to the envelope, he took a deep, anticipatory breath.

Her fingers reached out to assist, gently pulling the sheet of paper from its shell. She paused before she handed it to him, her eyes meeting his uncertainly. Her hand drew the stationery to her chest, as though contemplating for a brief moment, and then presented it to him once again.

Meg's voice was heartbreakingly soft when she spoke again. "I wrote it for you."

Ryan felt another lump forming in his throat. He had been wrong. Now he wondered what else he had been mistaken about. His questions were suddenly answered as his eyes met the typewritten words on the sheet of paper.

_You said there would never be,_

_Anyone else for you but me,_

_I didn't want to lose my heart to you,_

_Again…_

_There wasn't any way,_

_To hold and make you stay,_

_And when you're gone there's nothing left for me,_

_The song's been broken, no harmony._

_When I __look__ into your eyes,_

_I should never be surprised,_

_That your soul, it calls my name,_

_I can't ever be the same…_

_Chorus _

_But our past gets in the way,_

_And it hurts for me to say,_

_Can I trust you; I want to hold you,_

_Again…_

_Say that this love of mine,_

_This need that grows each time,_

_Will be ours together…_

_Again…_

_Forever's not long enough,_

_Together to share our love,_

_This love, I know it's meant to be…_

_Because we never really know,_

_What mystery the future holds,_

_Please say you'll love me,_

_Till the end_…

_Repeat Chorus_

_The past was the wrong time,_

_Fate said you couldn't be mine,_

_The present's up to you and me,_

_Say heaven is together,_

_That forever we're meant to be._

_It's taken me so long to realize,_

_That when I look into your eyes,_

_Our hearts will beat eternally,_

_Please say we can start anew,_

_There's one sure time for loving you,_

_Baby, my heart will sing its final vow,_

_The right time to love you…is now_

With his heart now in his throat, he looked into the liquid blue eyes of the woman before him. "What is it called?" he asked.

"The Right Time," she replied.

"You wrote this…for me?" he asked, encouraged by the tears forming in her eyes.

Meg nodded her response, and Ryan took her into his arms. His fingers crushed the song against her back, and his lips urgently met the golden strands of her hair.

Ryan's voice emerged huskily. "Do you mean it?"

"Every word."

He breathed another deep breath, a breath of relief, of longing, of completeness, ignoring the ache in his ribs. Though parts of his body were still broken and bruised, he felt another vital organ coming back to life in his chest. Meg was back in his arms again, and it was the only place she was meant to be.

"I love you, Meg Giry," he whispered.

She trembled in his embrace and leaned her face up to meet his caramel gaze. "I love you, too, Ryan Cooke," she replied. Stray tears raced down her cheeks.

And their lips met once again…

Lindsey and Edward peeked into Ryan's office, finding the pair locked in an embrace, their lips seemingly glued together.

With a smile, Lindsey took her husband's hand and led him back into the living room. Her stride took her quickly to the coffee table where she retrieved her purse, and her fingers impatiently sought the inside pocket.

"Lindsey?" Edward called out softly, gesturing for his wife to meet him at the front door. One hand was on the doorknob.

The purse hung from her shoulder and her fingers curled around the desired object. With her own heart bursting, Lindsey released it from her grip, setting it down next to Ryan's laptop on the kitchen table.

_It was time to go home…_

And when her son finally emerged, he would find the little surprise she left for him and Meg – an antique band of twenty-four carat gold with a breathtaking row of sparkling stones.

* * *

A/N: So here we are finally...with one chapter to go! Oh and those who haven't already, please check out my new _Twilight_ fic- which will definitely be much shorter than this one. As always thanks for reading. By the way, I'm close to 400 reviews now for this story, and would love it you helped me get there- pleeeease :)


	69. Epilogue Revisited

**A/N: Okay, this is the big one, the one that finalizes this thirty plus chapter Meg saga! Thanks to _Timeflies _(for her tireless reviewing of every chapter and endless support), _loveofdarkness143_ (for her encouraging feedback), _IamthePhantomoftheOpera _(my youngest reviewer, for sure- that I know of- for her kind and sweet reviews), _Mominator_ (for her lol's where there were supposed to be, and for her constant support), _Passed Over, BleedingHeartConservative, Zeeksmom_ and others for sticking with me offering constructive criticism, feedback, and mostly just hanging in there despite the fact that Ryan was Meg's final choice. Thank you to all who reviewed- your reviews have really brightened my day! Also, a huge thanks to _Truckingal,_ who is my beautiful, perfect, and delightful beta who has never let me down, always picking me up and putting me back in my place! God, I love you, woman! Thanks as well to all my readers who have hung in there with me despite all I have put Meg through and kept coming back for more. Love ya all! Big hugs! **

**Note: The excerpts in italics are from the original epilogue- Ch.31 (to serve as a reminder), making this chapter extra long. Hope you enjoy!**

**Epilogue Revisited**

_Four weeks later…_

The buzzing from Ryan's cell phone took his attention away from the playbill before him. This was the third time that hour, and instead of answering it, he shut it off, turning his attention back to the leaflet.

"Was that David AGAIN?" Meg asked, now setting her own program down on her lap. She shook her head in disbelief as Ryan responded affirmatively. Although she had not been aware of it before, David was also Ryan's agent as well; but now, she was becoming irritated by the man's persistence. He knew they were not in town, and he knew he should not be bothering them, especially not now.

It was odd, but in a good way. There they were, back in London, mere miles from the very theater where they had first met.

Meg breathed a sigh of relief, allowing herself to finally relax in her seat. She and Ryan had made it on time. The morning before, she had recorded the final song for her new album and the couple had hurriedly boarded their flight from Los Angeles International airport that night. With the production of her second album moving at an alarming rate, Meg had been doubtful about attending, unsure even up until the last minute if it would be possible. She had not spoken a word about it to Christine or to her mother, wishing it to be a surprise if they made it and not a disappointment if they hadn't.

And now, it was surreal to be sitting there in Erik's theater, awaiting the premiere of his first opera. Seated in the center of the second row, her eyes scanned the interior. It boasted a more intimate setting, accommodating approximately eight hundred people.

There were two balconies on each side, and Meg was absolutely sure which Erik would be occupying, although, as she peeked upward to the right, the box appeared vacant.

Seated to her right, Ryan took her left hand in his, admiring the sparkle of the stones glittering from Meg's finger. The ring in itself was beautiful, an antique, having been passed on in his family from generation to generation, but now, as he stared at the band of gold gracing Meg's hand, Ryan had believed it to be breathtaking, as though it had been created just for her.

"I love you," he whispered, bringing her knuckles to his lips ever so gently.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she leaned toward his face to kiss him. "I love you, too."

Although he had told her he loved her every day, Meg still felt a burst of warmth at the sound of it. She squeezed his hand in hers, meeting the seduction in his caramel gaze. They were both tired from the jet lag, but their bodies still ached for one another, and the familiar charge at his touch gave proof of that. Clean-shaven, and dressed in his grey suit and tie, Meg found him irresistible. His bruises were gone, and the cuts on his face had healed and faded. The only visible sign of his accident was the troublesome but necessary sling that hung from his right shoulder - two more weeks…

There was a buzzing sound again, but now it came from Meg's phone inside her purse. "It's David. Now he's calling me."

"I wonder what he wants."

"I don't know," Meg replied, shutting off her phone. "But it can wait."

* * *

_Christine Windsor sat at her dressing room vanity applying makeup, humming along to the tune on the radio. Every inch of floor space was covered with a colorful assortment of roses, and as Erik entered, she finished outlining her other brow with a dark brown eyeliner pencil._

"_Are you ready?" he asked, stress written across his face._

"_Soon, my love," she said calmly, tracing a dusky outline of red to her lips._

_He began to pace worriedly. "I'll send in Daphne to help you."_

_Rising from her seat, she stopped him in his tracks. "I'm almost ready, and don't bother, and you are making me nervous. You are not even performing!" she told him, planting a bright red kiss on his cheeks._

_Erik looked at his lovely wife, her costume revealing her milky white shoulders, the lacy straps refusing to stay in place. At once his eyes were drawn to the tempting flesh of her cleavage. "You look beautiful," he told her in awe. After a year of marital bliss, he was still blown away by her beauty and talent, and desperately in love, Erik could not resist the pleasure of her body._

_She lifted his chin to meet her eyes. "Down, boy," she told him, making her way back to her seat. Lifting the powder puff to her face, she smiled. "Remember, show time, fifteen minutes?"_

_Watching as she dabbed at her face with the __translucent__ powder, he chuckled. "How can you be so calm?"_

_Christine could not help but smile. She could not recall ever seeing him this nervous. "Erik, everything is going to be fine."_

_He picked up the silk rose and pinned it to her hair. "But, what if they don't think it's funny?" he asked. "What if they want their money…"_

"_Bup, bup!" Christine silenced. "You listen to me, Monsieur Derek Windsor, everyone is going to love your opera. Don Juan Triumphant is going to be a huge success. I can feel it."_

"_But, how do you know? Tonight is opening night."_

"_I know," she began, fluffing her curls. "Because you are a genius, and everything you have ever composed has turned to gold." Christine resumed her humming and adjusted the white ruffle across her chest._

_In a flash, he was at her side, unable to keep his lips from her neck. "I love you."_

"_I love you, too," she said, meeting his lips with her own, reveling in his nearness, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his cologne, now wondering if there was enough time…_

_Erik pulled away, and his brow shot up. "Wait," he said, his attention towards the voice coming from the small radio. "That isn't…"_

_Smiling, Christine nodded. "Yes, that's Meg."_

_The former opera ghost shook his head in wonder. "Unbelievable."_

"_I heard that her single has now sold over a million copies, and now__,__ since she's signed another record deal, it will be even harder to reach her!" Christine said with a pout. True, she was happy for her friend's amazing success, but missed spending time with the newly acclaimed pop star._

"_I still can't get used to that name…"_

"_Marguerite," Christine said with a giggle._

"_It's not even Marguerite Giry, it is just "Marguerite"," Erik said, as if scratching the air, making quotation marks with his fingers._

"_Oh, it's not so bad. It's like Madonna or Cher," she replied, "only she's Marguerite," Christine continued, making an imaginary rainbow above her head with her two small hands._

_Erik stole a quick glance at his watch and gasped. "Ten minutes!" He began to take deep breaths as if to prevent himself from hyperventilating. "I've gotta go, break a leg."_

_Securing the pin to hair, she nodded. "Thank you. Love you."_

_He was already closing the door behind him as he called out to her, "Love you more."_

_Unhappy with the way the rose accessory sat on the side of her head, Christine removed it, unleashing some stray wavy locks, and picked up her comb._

_The door opened again and Christine frowned at the blonde maid as she entered._

"_I'm here," she announced, making her way to the leading lady, and removing the rose from her fingers._

"_Daphne! I don't need…"_

"_Monsieur Derek sent me," she said insistently, already smoothing out a small piece of hair and pinning it expertly to Christine's head._

_Christine smiled gratefully. Daphne seemed to be good at everything she did, and had proved her worth to their household time and time again since she and Erik married._

"_Thank you, Daphne," she told the reflection of the attractive blonde in the mirror, dressed tastefully in a simple pink skirt and blouse, having ditched her former French maid garb at Christine's request._

"_Oui, Madame," she replied, adjusting Christine's zipper in the back._

"_Daphne, my name is Chris-tine. Call me Chris-tine," she insisted._

"_Oui, Madame." Daphne continued to fuss over Christine's costume, her mind seeming to be elsewhere._

"_Daphne?"_

"_Oui, Madame?"_

_Deciding not to correct her, Christine turned her attention to the abundance of flowers. "It seems to me that this boyfriend of yours is quite serious," she told her with a teasing smile. "Half of these flowers are for you…"_

_Daphne shrugged. "He is very sweet, Madame, but, I don't know," she sang, a blush beginning to fill her cheeks._

_Christine turned to the blonde woman beside her, who was more like a friend now than an employee. "I do know. When a man follows you from Paris all the way here to London, he's got it bad. Tell me, Daphne. Who is this mystery man?"_

_A giggle escaped her, and she opened her mouth to reveal her suitor when a knock at the door interrupted._

"_SEVEN minutes!" Erik's voice shouted._

"_Okay!" Christine shouted back, standing and smoothing out her dress._

_Daphne gave Christine a hug and a warm smile. "Break a leg," she told her, quickly leaving the dressing room._

"_Thanks," Christine replied, and by now the curiosity was killing her as she watched the door close behind Daphne. Sneakily, she crept over to a particularly large arrangement of lavender roses, and peeked at the card. She just had to know! Quickly, she skimmed the writing, at once recognizing the De Chagny crest, and the closing to the tiny message read: Fondly, Raoul._

_And Christine just had to laugh._

* * *

Meg could not resist looking at the other patrons, in search of familiar faces. To the right of her just a couple of rows back she spotted a blonde, who with her similar frame caught her eyes. Daphne, Erik and Christine's young maid, took her seat, and in surprise Meg gaped at the man seated beside her…Raoul. That was surprising, she mused, although she recalled the way the pair had danced at her best friend's wedding.

It was a full house, and the air was filled with nervous energy. She wondered if she would be able to scope out her mother and Nadir, feeling giddy at the thought of seeing them again…and sharing her news. It was difficult enough to stay quiet and not force her way backstage to wish her best friend well before the show. This would be a surprise, though, and she did not want having her presence known to upset Christine's performance. It was, after all, opening night, and Meg guessed that both Erik and Christine already had enough to worry about.

* * *

_Stop fussing," Nadir told Antoinette, taking her by the arm backstage, and pulling her away from the dancers. "You are no longer the ballet manager."_

_She met his blackish brown eyes stubbornly, "Yes, but still, I was just reminding them…"_

_Nadir held up his hand. "Your job is done," he told her curtly. "As choreographer, you don't wait in the wings to give further instruction. You are supposed to sit down in the audience and watch as they perform your work."_

"_But," Antoinette said uselessly. She was behaving like a mother hen and she knew he was right. "But…"_

"_But nothing," he refuted, his eyebrows furrowing tightly. "Now, let's take our seats. It's almost time for curtain," Nadir told her forcefully._

_Antoinette was sure she did not like his tone, and one eyebrow shot up challengingly. "Or what?"_

_Grumbling, Erik made his way toward the wings, making sure the stage manager had things under control when he noticed that the heavy black curtains backstage were moving, and to his horror, he heard the sound of a female giggling. Impatiently, his hands moved the drapes to reveal Monsieur and Madame Khan engaged in a rather intimate embrace._

"_Get a room, you two!" Erik nearly shouted to the embarrassed couple, grabbing his Iranian friend by the elbow and separating them. "Or at the very least, get to your seats!" he commanded, his blue eyes throwing daggers._

_

* * *

_

"And so, the program says that this opera was composed by Derek Windsor," Ryan observed, holding the page closer to Meg's view.

"Yes," Meg agreed. He looked puzzled by this. "Derek is Erik's pseudonym."

"Why?"

"Because it is." She did not want to have to explain at that moment the very long story of the Phantom of the Opera. There was no doubt in her mind that someday she would fill him in on the real story behind the man- how, during a long dark period of his life, he had been driven by madness…and how she had once thought herself in love with him. Erik had played a pivotal role in her life, and had overcome his ugly past, emerging as a success. Yes, this was a story that she would undoubtedly share with Ryan, someday… Besides, her fiancée was oddly fascinated with the stories of the opera ghost, having learned of them during his time with _Wicked_ in London. On more than one occasion, he had fashioned a mask for himself…

"But, why?" he pressed, but when he caught sight of a couple of familiar faces, he stopped and pointed in their direction. "Look, it's your mom and step dad!"

They had appeared from a door that lead to backstage, and Meg's face lit up as she watched the pair make their way to their seats on the left side of the theater. And Meg could not help but noticing that they both looked a little flushed…

Seated just yards away from her mother and stepfather, they were so close, but yet so far away.

Ryan's attention focused back on the program in his hands. "So, your mom choreographed this production?"

Meg nodded. The lights were beginning to dim, and Meg took a breath in anticipation. She closed her eyes as if to inhale the ambience.

He looked up from the program then, and placed another kiss on her cheek. He could see the look on her face and already could anticipate the reason for that wistful look. "God, I miss the theater, don't you?"

Her eyes opened then and she smiled. Ryan knew her so well. "I do."

"I have an idea!" he told her, sitting up in his seat. "I know we talked about getting married in a church, but I think, instead, we should get married in a theater."

Surprised, Meg's eyes widened. She had not even shared the memory of that dream.

"The theater is where we met," he went on. "Just think, we can have altar flowers on the stage, and bows and ribbons along every aisle, music coming from the orchestra pit…"

She was quiet, speculative as she listened to his "ideas."

He continued and his tone now excited. "There can be hundreds of twinkling lights, and it will give it that nighttime feel…Just imagine how beautiful and unique our wedding would be."

Meg smiled and took his hand in hers. The house lights dimmed once more, signaling the opening of the performance. "I already can."

* * *

_The music began, and the singers shook the theater with powerful emotion, their voices rising like thunder. Christine took the stage, and Erik's pulse raced at her beauty, the long curly tresses, the crimson of her lips, the seduction in her voice. The former opera ghost's fears melted like snow, and for the thousandth time, so did his heart at the sight of her._

_Don Juan Triumphant._

_Four years in the making, this opera represented the madness that had once possessed him, and the transition that delivered him to sanity. It was because of Christine; she had been his muse, his inspiration to finish, the driving force that brought it to the stage._

_And as Erik listened to the sweet music of the audiences' laughter, all was right with his world._

* * *

The applause thundered throughout the theater and Meg was bursting with pride at her best friend's performance. Nearly every member of the audience was on their feet giving the talented company a standing ovation as they emerged onstage for their curtain call.

It was a complete success, and Ryan and Meg enjoyed every second of the performance. In the end, Erik's meticulous attention to detail and high-as-heaven expectations paid off. She would eye the composer every once in a while, and watch how, at times, he would seemingly shrink backward in his seat, but then lean forward again with his face hiding behind his hands, as though afraid to watch. It turned out that Christine had wonderful comedic timing, and she and Ricardo played off each other naturally. After the first intermission, which turned out not to be enough time to sneak backstage, Erik's mood (and facial expression) seemed to lighten considerably. By the end, she watched as he stood there in his private box, applauding as enthusiastically as the rest, his handsome face beaming with pride. It was hard to believe that the man, her former reclusive tutor, was now standing tall and proud for all the world to see. So much had changed…

She would have yelled to get his attention, but with the crowd's applause, he could not have heard. Instead, she stared up at him, pointing Erik out to Ryan.

He must have felt the weight of her gaze as his attention focused on the petite blonde standing in the center of the second row, her body turned and facing his direction, waving her hands in an exaggerated motion. Erik thought his eyes were deceiving him, and he closed and opened them to be sure. Yes, he knew this blonde and her companion, and a pleased smile curved at his lips as he waved back in acknowledgement.

* * *

Christine was giddy from the performance and the welcome it had received from the audience. She had not seen Erik since intermission, but imagined that he, like herself, was thanking each performer for a job well done. Fueled by adrenaline, she hugged each of her cast-mates, each member of the orchestra, and every soul who comprised the crew. She was grateful for such cooperation and chemistry during this production. This had certainly not been the case at the Opera Populaire, mostly due to a certain spoiled and disgruntled diva. In any case, now that the opening night of Don Juan Triumphant had been so successful, the much-discussed three month run was now inevitable. Though the concept seemed exhausting, right now she felt exhilarated by it. She had missed the theater, and being back on stage felt as natural to her as breathing.

A few journalists were still taking photos of Christine and Ricardo, and the theater was nearly empty except for some who were snapping their own pictures with members of the cast. That was when she spotted him, his ridiculously handsome face sticking out like a sore thumb as he towered above the heads before her. A smile lit Christine's face, and she broke through the reporters to kiss her husband.

"Look who we have here," Erik announced, a wide grin crossing his face as he directed her attention to the couple beside him. With a smile, Erik also half-grudgingly shook Ricardo's hand, in his own form of congratulation.

Christine's eyes widened and her mouth fell agape at the sight before her. There, beside Erik, stood Ryan and Meg; the group of reporters were now long forgotten as they slipped out of the theater.

"You were amazing!" Meg told her, embracing her best friend tightly.

In disbelief, Christine squealed with delight, squeezing Meg, and tears began to well in her eyes. "Meg! I can't believe it! You're here!" It had been a year since the two had seen each other and now she could hardly believe Meg was really there.

They stood there, embracing, reveling in each other's presence. The two were a mess of tears after finally pulling apart.

Ricardo jumped at his opportunity. "Bella Marguerite! How are you?" he said with his thick accent.

Christine soon took notice of Ryan, who had been grinning widely until 'Don Juan' himself took Meg into his arms. Christine speculatively moved toward Ryan.

"Hello, Ryan," she greeted quietly, her eyes scanning his tall frame and the sling hanging from his shoulder.

"Hello, Christine. Meg was right. You all did a fantastic job," he replied, looking to Erik and Ricardo, and then back to the lead soprano.

"So, you think that you can just waltz back into my friend's life again after breaking her heart?" Her eyes met his with accusation.

Erik moved to his wife's side, ready to serve as an arbitrator. "Christine…"

Ryan's eyes widened in response. "I…uh…"

Concerned, Meg pulled from Ricardo's iron grasp and intervened. "I was going to save this for later, but here goes…" Meg moved her left arm between Christine and Ryan so that the back of her hand faced Christine, and the sparkling ring on her finger commanded her friend's attention as loud as a bullhorn. Ricardo gallantly took the gesture as his cue to slip out quietly, leaving the four to their private moment.

For the second time that night, Christine's jaw dropped. "You're engaged?" Her hand fell to her heart as she gazed upon the jewels glittering from Meg's finger. "It's beautiful!" Christine pushed Meg's hand away and with a smile, hugged Ryan, careful not to upset his broken arm. It was impossible to stay mad at him. Antoinette had once apprised her of Ryan's past intentions. And now, seeing the two together again, anyone could see the depth of their feelings for each other. She pulled away then and stared pointedly at Meg.

"I want to hear it all, in detail!"

Meg shook her head, looking toward Ryan. "Not tonight, Christine. The opera…it was…"

"Bup bup!" she silenced. "I want to know how Ryan proposed."

The newly engaged couple looked at each other hesitantly and with a nod, Ryan gestured for Meg to begin.

"I was shooting my music video for "Never Say Never", dressed in an antique wedding gown. My hair was big and poofy, and…"

Ryan continued, "She was wearing this really heavy makeup, but still looked stunning. Anyhow, they were filming the scene where she meets the groom at the altar…"

"And so I'm singing…and then I see Ryan there, dressed in this gaudy lavender tuxedo with white ruffles…"

"And my arm was in a sling," Ryan added.

Erik and Christine stood, amused, their hands tightly intertwined as their attention turned back and forth from Ryan to Meg.

"Yeah, and his hair was poofed in every direction as though he'd stuck his finger in a light socket," Meg told them, gesturing with her hands. "And I was shocked to see him there. It was a closed set, and he shouldn't have been anywhere near it. Anyhow, we continued shooting, and I kept waiting for the director to call "cut"."

Ryan grinned again at the memory. "He didn't, of course, and then I got down on one knee."

"He held up the ring, looked up into my eyes, and by this time, I just thought Ryan was pulling one of his pranks…"

"And I proposed to her right then and there in front of the director, the crew, and the actors dressed as the ushers and the priest."

"I couldn't believe it." Meg smiled, and eased her head on to his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his waist. "But when I saw the look on Ryan's face, I knew it was for real…"

"And she said yes, so I stood up, and kissed her…"

Meg's blue eyes were sparkly and bright as she concluded her story. "And then the actor dressed as the priest proclaimed, "I now pronounce you ENGAGED.""

Christine clapped her small hands together. "That is so cute!"

"Yes, very theatrical," Erik agreed.

"Have you set a date?" Christine asked, ready to plan another wedding.

Meg shook her head. "Not yet." At that point there was too much to think about, with the upcoming concert tour and the production of her third album.

At that moment, Nadir and Antoinette joined the group, having heard just the tail end of the conversation. Their faces looked shocked, but delighted, as they met the gazes of Meg and Ryan. The former ballet manager took her daughter into her arms, hugging her tightly. She then turned to Ryan with a knowing smile.

"How are you, Antoinette?" he greeted, taking his future mother-in-law into a warm embrace as Meg hugged Nadir.

Antoinette wagged her finger at him. "Call me Mama."

Reunited once again, the group was all smiles and tears, catching up on lost time. Meg and Ryan's time in London was, of necessity, short, but the group all managed to meet for breakfast the next morning, sad to part after such a brief reunion. That very afternoon Ryan and Meg were on a plane headed back to Los Angeles.

Ryan was quiet. Meg looked out the small circular window with a sigh. The city's view below gradually became a menage of blue sky and clouds as the safety announcements rang out over the loudspeaker.

"Did you ever find out what David wanted?"

"No." Ryan made no move to check his phone, perfectly comfortable leaning back in his seat.

Meg pulled out her cell phone and turned it on, determined to check her voicemail. Apparently, David had left her a text message. Meg gasped aloud as she read it.

"Ryan, your song, "Last Wishes", has been nominated for a Grammy!"

Ryan's eyes lit up and he pressed a celebratory kiss to Meg's lips. "It 's the song I wrote for you. I've known for a long time that anything having to do with you would bring me happiness."

They were quiet once again, and she leaned her head against his shoulder contentedly. He had always told her that she would be famous, though he'd never figured himself into the equation. Meg had come to realize that it was too easy to get swept away with all the glitz and glamour. It was easy to lose yourself in this life and forget who you really were. In the end, it mattered not how many awards took up residence in your trophy case. She would never forget where she came from and how she had gotten there. The men she had loved had all played a part: Erik, her tutor, David, her agent, Ryan, her soul mate…

She turned to him then, finding a peculiar little smile on her fiancée's handsome face. "What are you thinking about?"

Ryan's caramel gaze settled on Meg's liquid blue eyes. "Erik offered his theater for our wedding."

"He didn't!" she replied. That prospect had never been discussed with anyone else.

"What do you think?" Ryan asked her hopefully, taking her hand in his.

Meg smiled as images filled her mind; a white gown, Nadir walking her down the aisle, and the most appealing image was of Ryan cradling a baby in his arms. In that moment, Meg had everything she could ever want: success, happiness, and especially love. Her future was filled with promise. "We'll just let him think it's HIS idea."

_The End_

* * *

A/N: I may revisit the story again in the future. I'm sure someday there will be something E/C I can throw in just for fun, so I'm not closing the story just yet. Thanks again for reading, and I hope you have enjoyed reading as much as I hoped writing. And as my final (usual) request, I ask that you, of course, leave me a review and let me know what you think...still aiming for 400+ .


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